Something Wild (13 page)

Charity was born to do exactly what she was doing right now. Suddenly it dawned on him that she was the trainer he’d been looking for, the one with an innate horse sense, the one who could gentle the wild horses he wanted in his herd.

But could he convince her that wild horses didn’t need to be wild? And more importantly, could he convince her to stay?

He finished his call and shoved the phone into his pocket. “Shouldn’t take much more than half an hour for Hank and Woody to get here with a trailer.”

“Then what?”

“Get the mare back to my place. See if I can get the vet to come out.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.”

Mike dug through the bag for antiseptic, cotton, and bandages then went to work on the horse’s wounds, doing the best he could to staunch the flow of blood.

Charity’s hands were beside his, instinctively holding torn flesh together while he bandaged, dabbing at blood with her own wool scarf so he could get a clearer look at the horse’s injuries.

“We wouldn’t have found her if I’d caught Satan earlier today,” he said, doing his best to give Charity credit for the miracle that had taken place, but he couldn’t look at her face because he didn’t want to see her I-told-you-so smirk.

“She wouldn’t have been attacked if Satan hadn’t brought her here,” Charity said. She didn’t accuse, didn’t smirk, she’d merely repeated thoughts he’d had earlier. “Of course,” she added without hesitation, “that doesn’t change how I feel about him being caught.”

Mike angled his head toward her and smiled. “We’re never going to agree on that issue, are we?”

She shook her head. “I think we’re destined to disagree about all sorts of things.”

“Maybe we could reach some sort of compromise?”

“You’re stubborn. I’m stubborn. Coming up with a compromise that works for both of us could take a long time, and I’m leaving in a few days.”

“Then don’t go back.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then slowly narrowed as if she were contemplating his rash statement.

She tilted her head and watched his hands while he worked on the horse’s wounds. “I’ve got a big audition coming up. I have to go back.”

Without thinking, he dug himself into an even deeper hole. “Then stay here until the audition.”

“Why?”

“Because...”

The familiar screech of the brakes on Woody’s truck sounded outside, giving him time to wonder about the real reason he wanted her to stay.

Charity touched his arm, holding him back when he made a move to leave. “Why should I stay?”

He looked at her questioning eyes, at the injured horse, then said only a portion of what he felt. “You’re good with horses. I could use someone like you on the ranch.”

“I’m a good dancer and Vegas needs me, too.” Charity smiled, but he didn’t see a twinkle in her eyes. He’d disappointed her. Maybe she’d expected him to say, “Stay, because I need you.” Of course, there was always the possibility that she had no interest in staying, that what he felt for her was completely one-sided.

She scrambled up from the ground and wiped her blood-stained hands on the thighs of her jeans.

“Are you going back in the truck?” she asked, looking at the silhouetted ranch hands walking toward the cave.

“Yeah. I need to stay with the mare. I’ll have Woody or Hank get the other horses back.” He smoothed a strand of hair from across her mouth, needing to touch her, probably for the very last time. “You goin‘ with me?”

She shook her head. “I’ll ride Jezebel back to the ranch.” She grinned. “And I’ll try to stay out of trouble.”

“You think that’s possible?”

“No. That’s part of the reason I like Las Vegas so much. Everyone gets in trouble once in a while, so it’s not quite so obvious when it happens to me.”

“A lot different from out here.”

“A whole lot different.”

Stepping toward him, she kissed his cheek lightly, then beat a hasty retreat out of the cavern.

Temptation had disappeared from his sight, but he doubted she’d ever be out of his mind—or his heart.

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Train wild horses? She was a dancer,
not a cowgirl, but. .. Mike’s offer had preyed on Charity’s mind for hours. Even now, late in the afternoon, with the family gathered in the kitchen drinking coffee, decorating cookies for church the next day, and chatting non-stop about Beau’s adventures at college, Charity’s escapades on the great Wyoming plains, and Mike’s trip to the vet with a zillion-dollar horse, she thought about Mike’s words—the ones he’d uttered and the ones he’d left unsaid. Did he want her to stay for the horses—or for him?

She tried pushing the thoughts from her mind by laughing and gabbing with everyone else. She thought she was putting up a good front, but Jack Remington continually eyed her from the corner of the room, listening intently to what she had to say, especially when Mike’s name came up. She’d seen that look before. He was analyzing her, studying her, trying to figure out what she was up to—which was absolutely nothing.

At last she escaped and found herself moving quickly, almost stealthily toward Jack’s office on the far side of the house. This was where she’d wanted to come ever since she’d gotten back to the ranch. She’d thought about it while she’d showered and applied salve to her aching muscles. She’d thought about it while she’d been trapped in the kitchen.

She wanted to look at Jack’s books.

Scanning the titles, she drew out a light volume with the innocuous title
Wild Horses and Burros of the Great Plains
and stood in the sunlight beaming in through the window to look at its contents. Her interest, of course, had absolutely nothing to do with the job Mike had off-handedly offered her, but strange as it seemed, she found herself a wee bit curious about what such a profession entailed.

Unfortunately, she didn’t like what she read. The horses in the photos looked content enough, but she was less than thrilled by the headings that touted gentling methods like “bamboo pole” and “sliding neck loop.” These time-tested practices left her feeling skittish, and she imagined the mustangs must experience a far more overwhelming panic when they saw a stick or rope heading their direction.

Her own methods would be far different. Patience. Persistence. If you wanted gentle, you had to be gentle. That was her philosophy.

Of course, she had no intention of ever giving her methods a try. Two run-ins in two days with a wild horse who didn’t want to be gentled and with a man who thought everything should be tamed had left her with bruises to her body, her ego, and her emotions.

She was confused, too. For the first time in twenty-plus years, something other than dancing and singing had captured her interest, had taken over her thoughts, and for some odd reason she felt guilty, as if she’d betrayed a lifelong trust.

“Looking for something in particular?”

Charity spun around at the sound of Jack Remington’s voice, her heart beating rapidly as she clasped the open book to her chest, hiding it just as she’d hidden copies of
Teen Beat
and
True Confessions
—magazines :hat her dad insisted would corrupt her mortal soul.

She flashed a guilty smile at Jack who flashed a what-the-hell-are-you-doing-in-my-office smile right back at her. She hadn’t secretly pocketed a candy bar in the grocery store, she was merely digging for information, an action that could be totally misconstrued by everyone at the Remington ranch. She knew how the people around here stretched things out of proportion, taking one small notion and making it one big deal. This little notion, no doubt, would be taken as evidence that she wanted to stick around “Nowhere”— which she didn’t.

The next notion might be that she’d fallen in love with their pastor, that she was looking for some way to wiggle into his heart and make him see her as a woman with more to offer than a well-toned body and a penchant for getting in trouble. That, of course, was the furthest thing from her mind. She was going home soon, and that was that.

“I was just looking for something to read,” she said, answering Jack’s question as she casually leaned a shoulder against the bookcase, attempting to look perfectly at ease with him staring at her. “Hope you don’t mind me coming into your office.”

“Not a problem.”

It might not be a problem, but Jack’s suspicious stare was maddening. He looked like a man with something he wanted to get off his chest, and for some reason, she knew that something had to do with Mike. Jack’s silence was just as maddening as his glare. She’d make a beeline for the door and get completely away from him but his tall, broad body was blocking the way.

Perhaps she should strike up a conversation. “You’ve got a lot of books on... cows.” She groaned inwardly at the sheer ridiculousness of her comment.

“I’ve got a lot of books on
horses
, too.” Jack strolled across his office, picked a ledger up from his desk, then stared at the dust jacket of the book she clutched against her breasts. “That one you’ve been scanning’s about operant conditioning, among other things.”

She didn’t want him guessing at her reasons for looking at the horse training book, so she played innocent, tilting the book to scan the cover. “Hrnmm, operant conditioning. I never would have guessed that from the title.”

“You interested in horse training?”

She shrugged. “Is that what operant conditioning is?”

Jack rested a hip on the edge of his desk and folded his mighty arms over his even mightier chest. “It’s better known as clicker training— gentling a wild horse in a controlled environment, shaping his behavior by giving him rewards, like carrots and apples.”

“In other words, bribing him so he’ll do something totally against his nature.”

Jack chuckled. “Mike told me you weren’t all that crazy about him penning up and gentling wild horses. Satan in particular.”

“I don’t think Mike had gentling on his mind. Breaking Satan’s spirit is more like it, and I’m dead set against anyone or anything having their spirit broken.”

“Then why didn’t you take the job Mike offered you? You could have done anything you wanted with Satan.”

“It was an off-handed job offer, and I don’t remember anything being said about me having full reign. Besides, I don’t know the first thing about horses.”

Jack’s gaze again darted to the book in her hands. “You trying to learn something about them now? Maybe you’re thinking about taking the job?”

See! One small action, like reading, blown totally out of proportion.

“I prefer wearing sequins to rawhide.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You don’t have to say that like it’s a sin.”

“Sin has nothing to do with it, as far as I can tell. I merely think you might not be cut out for this country—or Mike.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re entitled to your opinion, I suppose. But let me tell you, if I had the desire to stick around here and train horses, domestic or wild, I’d be the best horse trainer in the state, maybe even this side of the Mississippi. And if I wanted Mike—”

“Do you?”

Yes. No. Maybe
. “I have a life in Vegas, so this entire discussion is pointless.”

“He’s falling in love with you.”

Impossible
. “Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to. I can read his mind almost as well as my own, and I know what he’s feeling.”

“You’re wrong.”

Jack shook his head. “You think you’d make a good minister’s wife?”

Charity laughed. She hadn’t given marriage any thought at all. “I wasn’t good at being a minister’s daughter. I’ve got no intention of being a minister’s wife.”

“Then do me a favor?”

She felt her eyes narrowing at the tone of their conversation. “What?”

The phone on Jack’s desk rang and she was glad for the distraction, but the steadfast and annoying owner of the Remington ranch ignored it. “Stay away from Mike the next couple of days. If you don’t, he won’t be asking you to stick around and train horses, he’ll be asking you to marry him.”

“And you think marrying me would be the worst thing in the world for Mike, right?”

Jack shook his head. “I’ve got nothing against you.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“If you want the truth, I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Mike. Unfortunately, I don’t think
you
know what’s best for you. You think it’s Vegas, when it’s really Wyoming. You think it’s dancing, when it’s really horses. And you think it’s some unreachable star, when it’s really the love of a good man.”

“What makes you think you know what I want or don’t want?”

“Because I spent a hell of a lot of years chasing after the wrong thing, too. It wasn’t until I met Sam that everything I’d ever wanted came into full view.”

“I’ve only wanted one thing in my life, and what I want is in Vegas.”

“Then don’t hurt Mike by letting him think there’s even a remote chance you might be happy here.”

“I’d never hurt him.”

“Not on purpose, but—”

A soft rap on the open door brought a halt to their disquieting discussion. “Am I interrupting something?” Sam asked, walking into the room and smacking her husband with an I-heard-everything-you-said frown.

“Not at all.” Charity wished Sam had come in five minutes sooner, that she’d drag her busybody husband out of the office now and give her a chance to breathe again.

But Sam merely slipped her arm through Jack’s and smiled at Charity. “Jack can be terribly opinionated at times. I take most everything he says with a grain of salt.” Her smile widened. “You should, too.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he tugged his wife against his side. “I’m just looking out for Mike.”

“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself, and so can Charity.”

Right now, however, Charity wished she could sink into a hole someplace.

“For what it’s worth, Charity,” Sam added with concern, “I think Mike’s just as capable of hurting you as you are of hurting him. Be careful.”

“Now look who’s butting in,” Jack teased, as Sam pulled him toward the door.

“Yes, darling, but I do it with much more finesse.” Sam and Jack were nearly out of the office when Sam looked back at Charity. “I almost forgot. You’ve got a call. Someone named Duane.”

Duane the lech
? Duane of the nasty bumps and grinds and bloody broken nose? The choreographer who hated her guts? That was all she needed after suffering an inquisition from Jack.

The office door closed and she was left alone with a case of nerves and trembling fingers that fumbled with the receiver. What could Duane possibly have to say to her that he hadn’t said in the emergency room when the doctor was patching up his broken nose? And how on earth had he tracked her down?

“Hello,” she said politely, when she really wanted to ask “What the hell do you want?”

“I’m moving up the audition.” Duane was cold and curt, just as she’d expected, but—
Hmmm
. Why was he calling her with this information instead of his assistant? She hated to get her hopes up, but Duane’s voice on the other end of the line was a very good sign that she stood a chance of getting a starring role in his new production.

“When?” Charity asked, immediately thinking about enrolling in an extra ballet class, taking a few private lessons from a former showgirl who could show her some tricks that would blow Duane out of the water. She’d have to get moving if she wanted to be a star.

“The sixteenth.”

She’d almost missed Duane’s statement while thoughts of stardom raced through her head. “The sixteenth? Okay. That is the sixteenth of
March
, right?”

“February.”

“But that’s just a couple of days away.”

“You either make it or you don’t. If you still want a shot at the lead, you’ll be there.”

That was it. Duane hung up hard, and the dial tone rang heavily against Charity’s ear.

February 16th. Tuesday, and if she remembered correctly, today was Saturday. She hadn’t danced in weeks. She’d nearly sprained her ankle last night. Her body was bruised and sore from the tumble she’d taken today. She was in no shape to audition, but... but she wouldn’t miss this chance for anything in the world.

She had to change her flight. She had to practice.

Jack said she didn’t know what she wanted, but he was wrong. She wanted to go home. She wanted to dance. She wanted to forget that for a few moments today, she’d almost let someone and something else come between her and her dream.