The Forever Man

"Sommer... I'm hurt ... "

Fresh alarm rushed through her. "Where?" She was scrutinizing him when she felt strong fingers gently grip her chin and pull her bemused face around to his. "I've seen you kiss Katie's ouchies and make them better," Wade whispered. "How about mine?" His voice was husky, his blue, blue eyes, hypnotic. Slowly he pulled her head down. The contact of his lips when they pressed against hers was cautious and gentle. Sommer's body went from Jell-O to liquid fire. She wanted to melt against the strength of him. His arms came up to surround her, and as they did, the old fear shot through her. She jerked back, at first afraid he wouldn't release her, but his arms fell away as he watched her with a lazy smile. "Thanks," he finally said. "I'm all better. But I'll know who to come to the next time I'm hurt."

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Dear Reader: The spirit of the Silhouette Romance Homecoming Celebration lives on as each month we bring you six books by continuing stars! And there are some wonderful stories in the stars for you. In the coming months, we're publishing romances by many of your favorite authors such as Sondra Stanford, Annette Broadrick and Brittany Young. In addition, we have some very special events planned for the summer of 1988. In June, watch for the first book in Diana Palmer's exciting new trilogy Long, Tall Texans. The initial title, Calhoun, will be followed later by Justin and Tyler. All three books are designed to capture your heart. Also in June is Phyllis Halldorson's Raindance Autumn, the second book of this wonderful author's Raindance Duo. Don't miss this exciting sequel! Your response to these authors and other authors of Silhouette Romances has served as a touchstone for us, and we're pleased to bring you more books with Silhouette's distinctive medley of charm, wit and-above all-romance. I hope you enjoy this book and the many stories to come. Come home to Silhouette-for always! Sincerely, Tara Hughes Senior Editor Silhouette Books

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THERESA WEIR was born in Burlington, Iowa, and has lived in many different parts of the United States, including eight years in New Mexico, the setting for The Forever Man. Currently she lives in an Illinois community “so rural that there’s only one traffic light in the entire county.” She and her husband keep busy raising cattle, sheep and Australian shepherds, as well as their two children. Although The Forever Man is her first Silhouette Romance, Theresa has also written a soon-to-be-published mainstream novel.

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Chapter One Sommer McBlain pushed in the clutch and brake pedal, halting the Jeep on the ridge overlooking Valle Grande. She turned off the ignition, pulled out the emergency brake and stepped from the dust-covered vehicle. The afternoon sun worked its spell, stealing through her chambray work shirt to warm the skin of her back, except where the heavy black braid hung straight and thick to the waistband of her faded jeans. She breathed deeply. It was strange, but sometimes the valley seemed to beckon to her. She came here when she needed to recharge, needed to reflect. It was magical and peaceful, like being all alone in a big, candle-lit church, only better. Because here there was mile after mile of pure sky and unbroken, cattledotted pasture set secretly and almost inaccessibly within the protective palm of the Rocky Mountains. Local Indian legend said the bowl-shaped valley had been formed by a fire god falling from the sky; modern scientists claimed it was caused by a meteorite. No matter how it had been formed, Sommer loved it. The valley was her favorite place on the ranch, her favorite place in all New Mexico, maybe in the whole world. She felt a self-mocking smile touch the corners of her wide mouth. Now she was thinking, not like a widow of twenty-eight, but like her six-yearold daughter, Katie, who loved everything with the open enthusiasm that only a child can feel. Sommer placed a booted foot on the Jeep's running board, a hand on the tattered canvas top. She would be lazy, but just for a few minutes. A widow with a ranch to run couldn't afford to rest. Her eyes scanned the blue sky until they found what they were searching for. The eagles, her eagles-they were back. They returned to Valle Grande every summer like a kept promise. And they mated for life. Not like people. Not like Tom, a voice in the back of her mind nagged. Let it go. Forget about him. She could will herself to forget about her husband, but he had left his mark on her. They had only been married a year when he died, but it had been long enough for her to learn to be cautious in her dealings with others, long enough to put a hard edge on her soft heart.

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She tilted her head back to watch the eagles glide effortlessly on the wind currents. They were near enough now for her to see the white feather caps on their heads. Then they circled wide to disappear behind a craggy ridge. Sommer was about to leave when another dot appeared in the sky. She watched it for a few minutes. Closer and closer it came, until it was near enough to be recognized as an airplane, near enough for her to hear the low drone of its engine. The drone gradually increased until it became a roar. The plane swept down to fly along the valley floor, its shadow scurrying beneath it. How strange. She felt as if she had passed through a time warp. The yellow aircraft was old, reminding her of one she might have seen in a silent movie. It had two sets of wings that were staggered, but instead of the typical open cockpit, this one was enclosed and box shaped. Thinking that the pilot must be an eccentric cattle baron flying in to look at her herd, she moved from the Jeep and started down the lip of the valley, all the while watching the strange plane. After circling for the third time, it lined up to land. When the wheels touched the ground, the plane began a mad, skittering motion, the tail bobbing up and down, threatening to put the airplane on its nose. It finally lurched to a stop not far from where she stood, the engine sputtering to silence. Then the door was flung wide. The man who stepped out was tall and rangy, broad shoulders filling a faded denim jacket. The curled brim of a battered felt cowboy hat cast a slanting shadow across his lean-jawed face. An age-old instinct of self-preservation sent wariness prickling along Sommer's spine, and her throat went dry. Who was this man? "I came about the ad." His voice was deep, easy, with a suggestion of a drawl. "Ad?" She hadn't advertised any cattle for sale. "This is the McBlain Ranch, isn't it? Valle Grande?" In a smooth, liquid movement he jumped to the ground and started walking toward her. His stride was loose and lank. Tanned hands contrasted starkly with white shirt cuffs, jeans fit snugly across lean hips. Her gaze dropped to his cowboy boots, and somewhere in the back of her mind it registered that the boots were well-worn. He wasn't a "drugstore cowboy," the name local caballeros called men who only dressed like cowboys but couldn't tell a steer from a bull. "This is the McBlain Ranch," she said a little shakily. What could this man possibly want from her? "I'm Sommer McBlain." 9

He tilted his worn cowboy hat back so that the lazy afternoon sun played over his lean, bronze face, making it all strong angles and flat, shadowed planes. "Name's Wade Malone. You advertised for a ranch hand, didn't you?" A caution light flashed in her mind, but she quickly reassured herself that there must be some mix-up. She looked from his antique plane to her rusted-out Jeep. He couldn't be seeking employment from her unless he was under the mistaken impression that she was in the market for a manager. "You haven't already hired somebody, have you?" he asked. She let out a tight, nervous breath. There was something very unsettling about him, and it made her wary. "No. But my ad must have been misleading. I was advertising for part-time help. Maybe a highschool student looking for a summer job." "I'm experienced with cattle." He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "And I've done my share of baling hay." "I don't think you understand," she said quickly, anxious for him to leave and take his threatening presence with him. "I was looking for some muscle, that's all. Hard labor for low wages." She glanced toward his plane again, then back at him. "Hardly what you could've had in mind. I'm sorry." He was only a few feet away, and the eyes that regarded her so openly were blue, as blue and uncluttered as the northern New Mexican sky that served as his backdrop. Honest eyes with the teasing promise of humor and good nature lurking at the laugh-lined, sun-squinted corners. For a split second Sommer let her guard slip and almost forgot that her husband's eyes had appeared honest, too. She had trusted him, and that trust had been betrayed. He couldn't face responsibility, and when times got tough, when the bottom dropped out of the cattle market and Sommer discovered she was pregnant, he deserted her. That had been almost seven years ago. But she would never regret marrying him because she had her Katie. Katie made it all worthwhile. Now she just had to keep her books in the black and hang on to the valley for her daughter, for herself. "I'll be honest with you-" Wade Malone began. Bad line. Hadn't she heard it a million times? "I've been riding the rodeo circuit, and I need a break." She felt relief combined with disappointment. A rodeo cowboy. He was just a rodeo cowboy. In other words a drifter. Drifters were unreliable and irresponsible. You couldn't count on them to be around when you needed them the most. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malone, it wouldn't work out." 10

"Just room and board?" "I don't have a room, and I can't afford full-time help." She turned on her long legs and started toward the Jeep. "Okay," he said to her retreating back. "It was probably a bad idea, anyway." Something, maybe the I-couldn't-care-less tone in his voice, made her stop and turn around, take one last look. He was already walking away, toward the double-winged plane. She should have recognized him for a rodeo cowboy right away. The loose walk, the narrow hips, the long legs, the slight limp. When he reached the plane, he took off his jacket and hat and tossed them on the bottom wing, then moved to the other side of the airplane He must have known she was watching him, because he suddenly started talking in a conversational tone. "On the other side of this ridge-" he spoke with his head tilted back as he examined the underside of the highest wing "-I saw a heifer." A heifer? Nervousness and caution were forgotten. Sommer had spent the last two hours looking for one of her best heifers, with no results. She strode quickly to the plane, then stopped to peer over the tail area at the man on the other side. "What did you say?" "A heifer, on the other side of this ridge," he repeated nonchalantly, not bothering to look in her direction. The trimmed hair that fell away from his upturned face was medium brown and streaked by the sun. Then he was walking around the propeller to the other set of wings, and as he walked Sommer pivoted, facing him as he went, stopping when he stopped. "The fuel gauge is real touchy," he explained as if she had shown some curiosity about his actions. "It's hard to tell which tanks are empty." He rapped one wing with a knuckled fist, then listened intently. "Kind of like checking for a ripe watermelon." "Could you be a little more specific?" Valle Grande was huge. The heifer could be anywhere. "The problem is with the switch-tank lever on the control panel. Move it a breath too far, and you might find yourself flying on an empty fuel tank and a prayer." "I don't give a rip about your tank lever!" Sommer said, her voice rising in increasing frustration. " Where did you see the heifer?" The cowboy casually straightened his tall frame and pointed to the northwest. "Over there." "Thank you so much." Sommer turned and stomped off in the direction he'd indicated, her irritation toward the stranger growing with each trudging step. She 11

hadn't gone far when she heard grass rustling behind her. She stopped and swung around. "Don't mind if I tag along, do you?" came Wade Malone's lazy drawl. "It's not necessary." "Thought you might need some help." The man had a head as thick as a brick. "Get this straight. I'm not hiring you!" She turned and continued to march through the tall grass. A few minutes later she heard the muffled bawling of a cow and followed the sound until she found the heifer lying near a stream. The animal rolled pain-filled eyes at Sommer as if begging her to do something to help. "I know how you feel," Sommer said sympathetically. "But I promise you'll forget all about the pain as soon as you see your baby." "This her first calf?" Sommer spun around to see Wade Malone casually surveying the scene, a long, thick grass stem dangling from one corner of his mouth. "I thought you were leaving." "Looks like maybe you do need me." "I'll manage." He had a lot of nerve. She didn't need him. She turned back to the heifer. "This her first calf?" he asked again. Sommer nodded, her brow creasing with distracted worry as she watched the suffering animal. The calf was most likely coming wrong and would have to be pulled, something Sommer couldn't do. Not that she was squeamish, but it took strength, strength that her small frame just didn't have. She would have to drive home and phone the vet. Even if he wasn't out on a call, he probably wouldn't get there for about two hours, which could be too late. Wade tossed the chewed blade of grass to the ground and slowly moved up beside the animal. "Nice-looking heifer," he commented softly, running a hand along the animal's straight back. "Long legged, but not too extreme. Your dad always did know good cattle." Sommer's head came up in surprise. "You knew my dad?" "Who doesn't? Anybody having anything to do with cattle knows your father." "Knew my father," she corrected, her voice showing strain. "He died a year ago." He was looking at her strangely, those blue eyes compassionate, as if he understood. "I'm sorry." 12

She didn't want him to be sorry. She didn't want to see compassion in those eyes. The next thing she knew, he was unbuttoning the white shirt, stripping it from his broad shoulders. She caught a disturbing glimpse of dark hair in the form of a T disappearing into his jeans above the leather belt buckle. Then he was tossing the shirt at her. With a reflex action she caught it to her with both hands, distantly aware that it smelled like green pasture, leather and airplane fuel. Then she realized what he was doing. He planned to pull the calf. She couldn't let him. He had no business ... no business just barging in.... She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. The heifer needed help; that was what mattered. She watched as he began the lengthy process of working his right hand into the animal far enough to touch the calf. Sweat broke out on his face as the heifer's muscles contracted. "What a mess!" he gasped when the contraction ended and he could speak. "Legs everywhere!" "Twins?" Sommer had accepted the fact that this rodeo cowboy had taken control-and she had let him, a happening as alien to her as cocktail parties and evening gowns. His sunbleached brows furrowed, and his blue eyes focused straight ahead as he continued to grope. "I can feel three legs ... four... five! It's either twins or a real good candidate for the side show." Then he gasped as another contraction closed over his arm. Sommer's father had told her that it felt as if your bones were being crushed when a cow's uterus contracted. It was a frightening sensation, since your arm was trapped until the contraction ended. "If I can sort out... what goes to what..." He pushed and pulled, trying to separate the tangle of legs. Pulling calves was a delicate procedure, one that had to be done swiftly, especially with twins. The second calf had to come directly after the first, otherwise it would drown in the amniotic fluid. She only hoped he knew what he was doing.... "Here it comes-" With a look of satisfaction Wade pulled out two black hooves, and the rest of the animal quickly followed. He didn't even pause, but went right back to find the other.

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Sommer was checking to make sure the first calf's nose was clean when Wade pulled out the second one, its limp, seemingly lifeless body dropping at his booted feet. He didn't hesitate, but picked it up by the back legs and began to shake it vigorously. With a terrific blast the animal expelled fluid from its lungs and began to breathe. As usual, Sommer was amazed at how fast the calves could stand. In no time the twins had struggled to their feet. Then, on swaying and trembling limbs, they nuzzled their mother. "You've got a couple of real nice calves there," Wade said approvingly. "Both heifers." He smiled, and his smile was warm. She found herself smiling back, but before she could think of words to phrase an adequate thank-you, he turned and walked to the stream to wash. "What do you say?" he asked when he returned. "Do I get the job?" He was standing in front of her, his broad expanse of bronze, hair-covered chest glistening with water. She tried not to gulp. How could he look so appealing? So totally masculine? It wasn't fair. And that grin! He reminded her of Katie; she got the same look on her face whenever she thought she'd really pulled one over on ol' mom. "Well?" he coaxed. "I only pay minimum wage," Sommer heard herself saying, wondering what had gotten into her. She couldn't hire somebody like him. To work with him daily would be unthinkable. She felt suffocated by his presence even here in the vast openness of Valle Grande. "That's okay. I don't need much." His tone was hopeful. "You can have the job." What was she saying? He was good, she argued to herself. She-the ranch, she corrected-could really use somebody like him. Especially now, during calving time. "I can't promise you a forty-hour week. And you'll have to stay in Sulfur Springs. There's a restaurant and bar there called the Purple Onion. The owner, Paul Millar, rents rooms. I'm on my way there right now and can take you." Actually she was late. She should have picked Paul up for the horse auction fifteen minutes ago. "Sounds good." He smiled again, and she felt a twisting in her stomach. What have I done? she wondered in dismay. He was watching her, and his expression was frank, appraising. "Indian," he suddenly stated. "You're part Indian, aren't you?"

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"No, I can't really claim to be." With more steadiness than she felt, she tucked a stray strand of coalblack hair into her heavy braid. "I'm only about onesixth Navajo-the rest, Irish." He wasn't even trying to mask the fact that he found her attractive. She could feel his eyes on her, penetrating her skin, burning all the way to her soul. "Good combination." She had to get a grip on the situation. She wiped her hands on her jeans and looked up at him, willing angry determination to show in her green eyes. She couldn't let this go any further. He was getting the wrong idea. "This is strictly a business arrangement, Mr. Malone. Nothing more. I write your paycheck; you cash it. Employer, employee. Understand?" The warmth evaporated from his blue eyes. "Sure Ms. McBlain: " His voice had taken on a chill to match hers. She had forgotten she still held his shirt, and now he reached out and grabbed it from her. With quick movements he shoved his arms into the sleeves, but he didn't linger to fasten the buttons. Instead he turned and strode up the slope toward his plane. When he reached the top, he stopped as if stunned. A string of curses shot from his mouth, and he broke into a run, disappearing over the grass-covered ridge. Sommer hurried after him. Reaching the top of the hill, she saw what had caused his sudden outburst. About thirty head of curious cattle had surrounded his plane as if it were a new toy. One licked the propeller while another sampled a dust-covered wing. "Yah! Shoo!" Wade shouted at them, waving his arms, his white shirt flapping open around him. The tameness of her cattle was something Sommer prided herself on. Strangers could walk right up and touch them-but that could cause problems when you wanted them to move. Sommer had learned a long time ago that it was easier to use the bait-and-coax method than to try to frighten them. "How the heck do you drive these things?" Wade shouted over his shoulder. He let out another string of curses as he grabbed his jacket from a cow's munching mouth. Then he started swinging the jacket back and forth in the air, trying to scare the cattle into moving away. They stood, watching him with solemn eyes. "You won't be able to leave your plane here!" Sommer shouted over the milling sounds of the cattle, laughter creeping into her voice.

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"No kidding! They'd have it in shreds by morning! What the hell do you do to these animals? Read them bedtime stories?" "One more thing," Sommer said, her voice still raised, "if you work for me, you'll have to watch your language." "My language?" He looked up from a cow that was tugging at the end of his leather belt. "I have been watching it!" "I have a six-year-old daughter, and I don't want her picking up a new vocabulary." "If she goes to school, I'll bet she already knows words that would curl your socks." "Just watch it," Sommer replied with more authority than she felt. "There's a landing strip about three miles south of here where you can leave your plane. I think it even has tie-downs. I'll pick you up there." "Think you can get your brood away long enough for me to start my plane?" Sommer walked to the Jeep and honked the horn. The cattle immediately turned and lumbered toward her. "This wasn't for you," she told them, as she took a bale of hay from the back of the Jeep. She shook it apart over the lush green pasture. "Why is it you always want hay when you have nice grass, but don't want hay when there isn't any grass?" The plane choked and coughed to life, the engine finally reaching a steady hum. She forced herself to keep her eyes on the cattle until the plane lifted away from the carpet of buffalo grass. Once airborne it began a low, sweeping circle of the valley. Suddenly the hum of the engine changed to that of a sputtering cough. Sommer watched in horror as the plane began to jump and buck. The engine sounded as if it were gasping for air, as if it were running out of fuel. Then it started to lose what little altitude it had gained. Thoughts of Wade Malone settled in her mind, slowly, like dust. The fuel gauge. What had he said? "A breath one way or the other..." With a tremendous roar, the engine suddenly jumped into life, and Wade pulled it out of its earthward course and back up toward the heavens. Sommer let out a long breath. Rodeo cowboys were tough. Rodeo cowboys had nineteen lives. They never died, they just became old and bent. He made a sweep over her, cockily dipping one wing before turning to vanish over the tops of the pine trees.

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Wade pulled the airplane out of a wide bank to line it up with the narrow landing strip. Instead of being lush like the valley, the strip was all red clay, tumbleweeds and prickly-pear cactus. "Wade Malone," he chastised himself, "you've done it again. Gone from the fire into the inferno." What he had told Sommer McBlain was true. He wanted a break from the rodeo circuit. The strain was getting to him. Because he wasn't just any rodeo cowboy; he had been the national all-around champion for the past two years. But now the pressure of interviews, commercials and groupies was getting to him-so much that he had decided to take a vacation. But Wade Malone didn't do things as most people did. He didn't feel an actual vacation was what he needed. No, what he needed was to re-find himself. Get back to the real world, the world he had left behind seven years ago. When he'd come across the ad in the Albuquerque Tribune, it had seemed like the perfect solution. What could be better therapy than hard labor on a secluded mountain ranch? It was the kind of life he had reveled in before he'd gotten the fever-the fever to be the biggest and the best. But it looked as if he may have made a mistake, after all. He hadn't bargained for a boss with blacklaced green eyes and a figure and face to knock a man's boots off. He grinned, recalling how she had warned him about cussing. Why, he hadn't been reprimanded for his language since the second grade when he was always getting his ear pulled by Miss Haversham. Then his smile faded. On the outside she appeared to be one tough lady. But he had sensed a nervousness, a primitive fear in her, not unlike the cautious wariness of a wild animal. And she had a kid. Yet her name was still McBlain.... He concentrated on setting the plane down on the narrow strip. Then he was taxiing to a stop, fine red dust filtering into every minute crack of the plane. He clambered out and secured the plane to the tie-down stakes, then unloaded his gear and waited for his new boss to pick him up. Employer, employee, she'd said. That sounded just fine to him. He didn't need to get tangled up with a woman right now. He had enough problems. When she arrived, he flung his beat-up canvas suitcase, duffel bag and coiled rope into the back of the Jeep. "What kind of plane is that, anyway?" she asked after Wade had folded his tall frame into the Jeep beside her. 17

"Nineteen forty-two Staggerwing." He took off his cowboy hat and hung it over one bent knee. "She flies like a dream, but landing can be more awkward than a blind date. Staggerwings have this annoying tendency to want to land belly-up. You'll have to come up in her sometime." "After that buildup? No thanks. I like to keep both feet on the ground." Her words were spoken with all the firm conviction of a nonflyer, but did they apply to her in general, or just to flying? She was driving too fast for the rough terrain, and he had to wonder if she was in a hurry to get rid of him. The thought made him smile. The Jeep hit a deep, jolting rut, smashing Wade's hat between his knee and the glove compartment. He offhandedly punched the top back out, then set about reshaping the brim. She slowed and shifted to a lower gear while Wade forced his gaze away from the small, tense, work-worn hand resting on the gearshift to watch the ponderosa pines and cottonwoods that lined the mountain road. The air was different here. It was tangy, fresh. Except that it was mingling with an oil smell. Ms. McBlain's Jeep was burning oil like a Texas refinery. There probably wasn't a gasket or seal in the whole engine that wasn't cracked and leaking. And there was a suspicious sound coming from the right front wheel, like a bearing about to go. He sighed to himself. His bad knee was getting a cramp in it, and he tried to stretch his booted foot a little farther across the case of oil on the floorboards, wondering if maybe he wasn't heading for deep trouble.

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Chapter Two Sommer felt a droplet of sweat trickle down her spine to be absorbed by the waistband of her jeans. Her hands felt clammy as they gripped the steering wheel. I'm ten times a fool, she told herself as she turned off the rocky dirt road onto the curving highway that led to the small village of Sulfur Springs. What am I doing hiring this man? A man who smelled like rainspattered desert and worn cowboy leather. A man who scared her more than she cared to admit. She put in the clutch and reached for the gearshift, a shock running through her when her fingers brushed against Wade's knee. Did he have to sprawl all over the Jeep? She shifted to second, the gears momentarily grinding and the harsh, grating sound seeming to mock her flustered frame of mind. She told herself to think and act like a person who had merely hired a new ranch hand. But it was hard when the ranch hand was so disturbingly masculine that he made her pulse rate jump. The five minutes it usually took to get from the edge of her ranch to Sulfur Spring now seemed to have expanded to five hours. And she had never realized how small the Jeep was, how crowded. Finally they shot off the highway and pulled up in front of the Purple Onion. "This used to be a boarding house for gold miners," she explained-anything to break the awkward silence that had descended. She shut off the engine, wanting to die of mortification at the sound of dieseling. She let out the clutch, and the Jeep jumped forward a couple of inches before coughing to silence. "Quite a place," Wade said, looking up at the two-story, false-front building. Above the sloping porch hung a folk-art sign showing a painted purple onion along with the date, 1889. Wade opened his door and stepped out. "While you get your gear, I'll go in and let Paul know you're coming," she said, practically fleeing his presence. The first thing Sommer noticed when she stepped into the bar was the filth and grime exposed by the harsh afternoon light. The oak-planked walls, ceiling and floor were preserved with layer after layer of accumulated tar and nicotine, along with the lights and fixtures. In front of the gilded bar mirror stood a row of open, sticky, dust-covered liquor bottles. And Sommer knew if the state inspector were to look closely enough, he would find an occasional bug

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drowned in the bottoms of some of those bottles. Pickled, Paul laughingly boasted. And there was Paul wearing his loud Hawaiian shirt, sitting at the only clean spot in the entire bar-the place at the counter where his sharp elbows habitually settled-practicing card tricks. "I thought you were going to clean this place up!" Sommer wailed in frustration. What would Wade think? She mentally shook herself. Why on earth would she care what a drifter thought? "I'll get to it. One of these days." Paul gave the room a quick perusal. "Besides, I'd need a sandblaster in here." He pushed a lank strand of pale hair away from his thin face. "Paul-I brought someone who wants to rent a room." She settled herself on a stool across from him. "You said you were going to clean the bar last Saturday!" He shrugged his sloped shoulders. "Get it too clean and it makes the customers uncomfortable." His eyes remained on the deck of cards in his hands, long, nimble fingers splitting and shuffling them with a series of loud snaps. He just couldn't be bothered with little things. Sommer let out a resigned sigh. It was foolish to try to change him. And to be honest, she didn't want to. Paul viewed life differently than most people, didn't take it as seriously. Some people disapproved of Paul, including Maria Martinez, the woman who had helped to raise Sommer after the death of her mother twenty years ago. Maria thought he was lazy and aimless. But she didn't understand him as Sommer did. In high school Paul hadn't cared about running with the popular crowd or having a car or being good in sports. The taunts of bullies bounced harmlessly off him, couldn't touch him. Paul was simple, uncomplicated. He was what he appeared to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Sommer felt protective toward him-he was the younger brother she'd never had. And Paul was "safe." There had never been, would never be, any physical attraction between them. The screen door slammed, and Sommer didn't have to turn to know that it was Wade Malone. He dropped his gear on the dusty floor, then stepped up to the bar. Sommer introduced the two men, trying to gauge their reactions to one another. Men, especially strong, masculine types, often took an instant dislike to Paul, never giving him a chance. She needn't have worried. Wade civilly shook Paul's hand. Afterward his eyes skimmed the room, and she had to give him credit his expression registered only vague curiosity. 20

"So, you're gonna start working for Sommer," Paul said as he walked to a pegboard and took down a key attached to a tattered card. "That's good news. I've been telling her she needs to get more help." He tossed the key across the bar top. "Rooms are all upstairs. You're in number two. Bathroom's at the end of the hall. Bar opens at five. Go ahead and help yourself to something to drink-we gotta run. We're supposed to go to this horse auction, and we're already late." "Horse auction?" Wade perked up, and Sommer was instantly wary. It would be just like Paul to invite him to come along. Just when she had been looking forward to some relief from his presence. "Yeah. Didn't Sommer tell you?" Paul asked. "We have these carriage tours in the summer. Take people to the hot springs and the old mine. Well, actually, Sommer is the one who does it. I don't get along with horses. Hey, maybe you'd like to go to the auction." Sommer was shaking her head and gesturing behind Wade's back. Paul finally noticed her, his expression becoming studious, chin lifting in inquiry. Wade turned around in time to see Sommer's arm drop to her side, her face registering embarrassment. "You ...ah...know anything about horses?" Paul asked distractedly, still trying to figure out what Sommer wanted. "A little." "We'll do just fine by ourselves," Sommer told Paul. "I'm sure Wade would like to get settled in."' "I'd like to come," Wade said, causing Sommer's stomach to flutter again. "Great," Paul announced approvingly. "I can't tell a fetlock from a muzzle." "I'll just take my stuff upstairs." Dismally Sommer watched as Wade disappeared up the curved wooden staircase, the fact that he was going to become a part of her life, however temporary, just beginning to sink in. "Good idea having him come along," Paul said as he locked the cash register. "I like auctions, but I hate to have to waste my time on a bunch of horses. Hey-" he suddenly looked closely at her "-you feelin' okay?" "I'm fine, Paul," she reassured him, dry mouthed. "Just fine." Five minutes later they were piling into the Jeep. To her dismay Paul crawled in back-which meant Wade was pressing up beside her again....

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Fifteen minutes later the booming voice of the auctioneer could be heard as Sommer pulled the Jeep into the sale barn parking lot. They stopped beside a blue gooseneck trailer, and Wade reached over the back of the seat. "Hey-" he nudged Paul's arm "-wake up, buddy. We're here." Paul struggled to a sitting position, a piece of straw stuck in his sleeptousled hair. "Oh," he moaned, "you should have let me sleep. I was having the most incredible dream" "Paul, you dream when you're awake," Sommer teased, reaching around to pick the straw from his hair, an action Wade took close note of. Paul didn't seem to mind her teasing. He had a faraway, hazy expression on his face. "There was this bed of clover-have either of you ever made love on a bed of clover?" His wide innocent eyes looked from one to the other. His words caught Wade completely off guard, and a surprised burst of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. "Paul!" Sommer said in an incredulous, shocked voice. With great interest Wade watched the color seep into her cheeks. That answered his inner question about Sommer and Paul's relationship. He had been puzzling over it, wondering at the unlikely chance that they might be lovers. Now he knew they couldn't be, or Paul wouldn't have asked such a question. "Come on," she said in a flustered voice as she shoved her shoulder against the flimsy door. "The sale's already started." Wade opened his door and climbed out, worrying at the relief he felt at deciding there was nothing physical between the two. After all, it was none of his business. None at all. The sale barn wasn't really a barn. It was a group of lots and pens under a single roof. The smells and sounds of the nervous horses were as commonplace to Wade as breathing, reminding him of the hundreds of times he had waited behind the bucking chutes during rodeos-waited and sweated and prayed, adrenaline rushing through every capillary. Wade had been concerned that somebody might recognize him, but the people packing the building didn't appear to be the typical rodeo-following crowd. The majority were men, most of whom probably earned their bread and butter dealing in horse-flesh. It was a man's world, a tough man's world. A world that stood on the fringes of society. Too rough for most men, let alone women. He looked down at the woman near his elbow. Maybe he'd been wrong. First impressions weren't always accurate. She might have tougher skin than he thought. She'd have to, to come here. 22

"Think I'll get a hot dog!" Paul shouted to be heard over the auctioneer's voice. He pointed toward a line of people at the concession area. "If you see a couple halfway decent horses, just bid for me. Remember, I don't want to pay over two-hundred bucks a head." Frowning, Wade watched Paul drift away, his Hawaiian shirt vanishing into the crowd. They probably shouldn't turn him loose among this rough bunch. Paul struck him as the type of person these guys might eat for breakfast. He also struck him as the type who might unwittingly say something offensive, then hightail it, leaving somebody else to slug it out for him. And in this case, that somebody would be Wade. Sommer glanced up at him, then pointed to an empty area along the metal railing that surrounded the sale ring. He nodded. Then, feeling somewhat like a bodyguard, he edged his way between the sea of rugged, sweating, tobaccochewing bodies, making a narrow path for Sommer to squeeze through so they could elbow up to the railing. The horses were being run through the sale ring one at a time. The next three to go through were good. Too good. They sold for a much higher price than Paul was willing to pay. Then the metal gate swung wide, and another horse stepped into the ring. Wade almost groaned out loud. There wouldn't be any question of this one going too high. In fact it would probably be bought for market price by the packingplant bidder. The horse had a tender gait, which meant its feet were soft and sore. It had most likely been starved, then fed too much grain all at one time. And once a horse is grain-foundered, its feet are always bad. No one was bidding, which didn't surprise him. The men lining the fence rails, elbows on the top bar, bottom lips fat with chewing tobacco, just stood and watched, waiting for the dog-food packer to bid market price and get the wreck of an animal out of the ring so they could get on to some serious business. The packer bid two cents below market price, eighteen cents a pound, just as Wade figured he would. At any other time that would have been it. The horse would have been taken to a nearby factory on the outskirts of Albuquerque to be turned into cans of dog food. But then someone bid nineteen cents. And the bid-taker was pointing in their direction-at his new boss. Sommer McBlain had just placed her bid. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed down at her. "Bidding," she answered coolly, keeping her gaze directed toward the ring as she leaned her arms on the top fence rail. 23

The packer buyer upped her bid by a cent. "Are you crazy? You're supposed to bid on the good horses. G-o-o-d: " He spelled it out for her. "Not the bad ones." The auctioneer was pointing at her, his brow quirked, asking if she wanted to go to twenty-one. Sommer nodded. Wade knew the packer would stop bidding any time now. They were a cent over market price, and he would have enough sense to drop out. Wade was beginning to panic. A few more bids by Ms. McBlain and poor Paul would be the proud owner of a bag of bones and soft, curling hooves. The packer bid again. "The horse is foundered," Wade explained, leaning toward her. "Look at the way it walks, look at its feet. They'd have to be trimmed and reshod every two weeks-" "Do you know anything about shoeing horses?" "Yeah, but-" "Twenty-three cents," she bid firmly. The packer bid twenty-four, then shot Sommer a baffled look, obviously wondering if she had all her marbles. "The mare's old. She's ready for the glue factory," Wade said in one last desperate attempt to stop her. "I know. Twenty-five." Her feminine voice carried across the ring. The auctioneer looked at the packer. The packer shook his head. "Sold!" the voice bellowed into the microphone, the words ringing in Wade's ears. "Sold to the little lady there in front. For five cents over market price, you got yourself the next winner at Ruidoso Downs." Deep male laughter rumbled through the crowd, but Wade's new boss obviously didn't care that she was being made fun of. When she looked up at him, her green eyes held a glint of triumph and satisfaction. And that's when he figured the whole thing out. Sommer McBlain wasn't nearly as tough as she let on. No, he suspected that inside she was a real cream puff. She knew how bad the horse was. That's why she'd bid on it. She was saving its life. It was as simple as that. "You should have told me this was a charity run," he drawled, unable to stop the smile from creeping across his face as he looked down at her. "I wouldn't have wasted my breath trying to talk you out of your foolishness." Foolishness it might have been, but he suddenly had a nice warm feeling inside. And she was smiling back at him. Really smiling. 24

Surrounded by the ringing voice of the auctioneer, the smell of horses and a crowd of mean-looking hombres, Wade was suddenly aware of how small she was standing beside him.., how vulnerable she looked. He'd never seen eyes the color of hers... that soft shade of green. His gaze dropped slightly-to her lips. They were red and full and generous... and he wondered how they would feel under his.... His thoughts must have been mirrored in his expression, because her face suddenly changed, shuttered closed, and she looked away. But not before he glimpsed the same flash of something he had seen before in the pasture. Fear? Panic? A surge of protectiveness ran through him, and he suddenly wondered if he was in trouble. Had he unthinkingly walked into a situation that might not be so easy to walk out of? The metal gate swung wide, and the next horse charged into the sale ring. A good-looking gelding. Now that Wade knew Sommer's game plan, he hardly gave the horse a glance. Instead, he looked toward the holding pen, his trained eye trying to pick out the most miserable excuse of an animal there. It turned out to be a dirty white mare with red eyes. White with red eyes meant pink skin. Pink skin meant it would sunburn. As an added bonus it was swaybacked, and had a wrinkled mouth, which meant few or no teeth, which meant the horse had come west with a Conestoga wagon. And not only was it as old as the state of New Mexico, its feet were foundered, too. Naturally, when it was led out, his boss perked right up. And so, they ended up with a matched pair of out-and-out dogs. And Wade still felt good about it. He caught a glimpse of the only Hawaiian shirt in the building. Paul was wandering through the crowd, looking totally out of place among the grizzly roughnecks but not seeming the least intimidated. He actually appeared to be enjoying himself, just observing people, a hot dog in one hand, a Styrofoam cup in the other. "I wonder if Paul has any idea that he just kept a couple of horses from going to that big green pasture in the sky." No question, Wade thought, the woman beside him had stirred up a wry tenderness in him he hadn't felt for some time. "No." Sommer touched his arm and looked directly up at him. "And don't you tell him how bad they are, either. Any horse will be just fine with Paul, as long as he doesn't have to get close to it."

25

Sommer and Paul went into the office to settle the account while Wade made arrangements for the horses to be delivered to the Purple Onion. When he was done, he met Paul coming out of the office. "Sommer's in there buying some raffle tickets." Paul pointed toward the open door with his thumb. Wade looked inside and saw Sommer standing at a wooden counter, a quilt in her arms. "All hand-done," a large woman in a print dress was telling her. "Isn't this the wedding-ring pattern?" Sommer asked, cradling the quilt against her. The woman nodded. "Yeah, it used to be given to young ladies for their hope chests. But you don't hear 'bout hope chests too much any more. Sad, ain't it? People just hurry an' get married, hurry an' get divorced. My sister, Hettie, made that quilt. Took her most of a year." "Such tiny stitches," Sommer said in awe. Longingly she traced a printed pastel ring with one finger. Wade couldn't help but notice that the femininity of the delicate quilt seemed an almost cruel contrast to Sommer's sun-browned, short-nailed, work-worn hands. She must have noticed it, too, because she suddenly drew in her fingers, hiding them in the palm of her hand. "How much are the tickets?" Wade asked, stepping into the room. Sommer looked at him in surprise. "Chances are two for a dollar," the woman said. Somewhat surprised at his own actions, he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wrinkled dollar bill. "I'll take a couple." "Land sakes!" the woman said with a laugh, taking his money and giving him two slips of paper and a pen. "What would a big fella like you need with a dainty quilt like this?" "For my hope chest." Wade grinned, feeling Sommer's curious gaze on him. He scratched his name twice, along with his new residence, then stuck the folded papers in the slotted box on the counter, tapping them in with one finger. "Drawing's in two weeks," the woman told them. "If you can't stop by, the winner'll be wrote up in the county paper." Wade and Sommer thanked her, then went outside to find Paul. He was leaning against the Jeep, arms crossed at his chest. "Hey, I just took a gander at the horses you got for me. They don't look half bad," he said approvingly. Sommer looked up at Wade and smiled.

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Chapter Three Sommer struggled to get her-foot into the tightly fitting boot. It finally slipped on and she began to hobble around, searching for the mate, finding it under Katie's jean jacket. She stuffed her foot in, then tugged the hem of her jeans over the boot top. "Maria, have you seen Red's bridle?" she shouted over her shoulder, rummaging through the sweatshirts shirts and vests that hung from pegs by the kitchen door. "Last time I saw it, it was on the couch," Maria Martinez said as her flourcoated hands slapped another ball of dough onto the round oak table. Sommer went to the adjoining den and came back with the bridle draped over one shoulder. She reached across the sink, pushing aside the white ruffled curtain to look out the kitchen window. Katie and Wade were near the barn. Wade was teaching her how to hold and toss a lariat, roping the corner fence post while they waited for Manuel Martinez to arrive so they could start vaccinating and tagging cattle. Infiltration... Wade had only been with them a week, and he'd already infiltrated himself into their lives. Katie, who was usually shy with strangers, had adored him from the moment they met. "That Wade, he's a good worker," Maria said, flattening the dough with a small rolling pin. "An' he's mucho hermoso!" She rolled her dark eyes toward the wood-beamed ceiling. "All the girls in town, they crazy for him!" "He's not all that handsome," Sommer hedged, letting the curtain drop back down. "An' Manuel, he likes him." From experience Sommer knew that Maria's husband was a good judge of character. "Would you like me to help you make tortillas until the men are ready to go?" "Oh, no you don't. Even Katie makes better ones than you, nina." Sommer couldn't argue with that. She knew her weak points, the biggest ones being cooking and housekeeping. If it wasn't for Maria, Sommer and Katie would have a hard time finding the front door. Her home wasn't dirty like Paul's place, it was just impossibly cluttered. But clutter's okay, she reassured herself. Now her cooking was another matter. Although she'd been watching Maria make tortillas for years, as usual, the last time she helped had been a disaster. In27

stead of being round, Sommer's had turned out in a variety of shapes and sizes: square, elongated, some with strange formations on the ends and most with gaping holes in the centers. Well, at least they hadn't been boring. And Katie had enjoyed figuring out what kinds of animals they looked like. Small footsteps could be heard on the wooden porch, then the screen door was flung wide. "Mom! Wade says he'll let me ride Red all by myself as soon as you're done rounding up cows." Katie was a small replica of her mother, with denim jeans, cowboy boots and black hair that hung in braids on either side of her small, tan face. But her large eyes were a legacy inherited from her great-grandmother, who had been part Navajo. Katie's eyes were black, so black it was impossible to tell where the pupil left off and the iris began. "An' you know what else he said? He said a girl like me should have my own pony!" Sommer frowned at Maria over Katie's dark head. Then she heard boots scraping across the wooden porch, and the door came open again. "What do you think you're doing, telling my daughter she should have a pony?" Even though she was exasperated with him, Sommer's heart still hammered against her rib cage, and she wondered how long it would take before he stopped affecting her so. He was standing in the doorway, his head only inches from the top of the wooden frame. "I was thinking out loud." "If that's what happens when you think out loud, then next time please keep your thoughts to yourself." "Mom, does this mean I can't have one?" Katie asked, looking from one to the other. "Katie, we just can't afford a pony right now," Sommer said honestly. "But Janie Price got a pony and only paid fifty dollars for it," Katie argued. "I have almost that much in the bank." "No, Katie." "Katie-" Wade stepped into the room and crouched down in front of her "your mother's right. When you get a pony, it should be a good one. You can't get a good pony for fifty dollars. Fifty-dollar ponies are usually mean as badgers and have mouths as tough as leather. They'll dump you or run you through a barbed-wire fence in nothing flat. I'm sorry," he told her. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. But you can still have a ride on Red when we get back."

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"An' anyway," put in Maria as she reached behind her broad figure to untie the blue checkered apron, "you ride a horse too soon, an' you'll end up bowlegged, just like your mama." "Maria!" Sommer gasped. "It's true. Your daddy had you on a horse before you could walk, an' look what happened." "I am not bowlegged!" Maria raised dark, eloquent eyebrows. "So, what's a little gap at the knees. Good grief!" Sommer marched out the door ahead of Wade's rich laughter. Manuel waited at the corral while Sommer and Wade rode out to gather the livestock. Sommer's old red horse loved to cut and sort cattle, and he did it with an effortless grace. Whenever a cow began to stray, the horse would veer sharply to bring it back, no matter what his speed at the time. It took a skilled and alert rider to stay on a good cow horse's back. Sommer tugged gently at the reins, slowing the big horse to a walk behind the tightly grouped cattle. Saddle leather creaked, and she could smell the sweating horse beneath her. Now that the cattle were grouped and heading in the right direction, Wade guided his horse closer to Sommer, so they were riding side by side. With reins held loosely in her left hand, right hand resting on the saddle horn, Sommer looked over at him. He was doing something no one else had been able to do: he was riding her father's horse, Pepper, and bareback at that. After her father died, she and Manuel had both tried to ride the half-wild, stubborn and unpredictable buckskin, but had soon given up. Yet, it had taken Wade only a matter of minutes to gain control of the animal. He might be a drifter, but he had a way with animals. And he could put in hour after hour of the hardest, most physically demanding labor-and seem totally unaffected when it was done. She also realized that he'd been working here a week, and already everyone treated him like one of the family, perfectly at ease around him-everyone but her. Wade suddenly swung his right leg over the horse's head and turned so he was facing backward. Then he placed his booted feet on the horse's muscled rump. With hands behind his head, he leaned back against the animal's thick neck. Sommer had seen him perform this stunt before to the delight of Katie. "You're going to fall off doing that." "Never have yet." 29

"What were you in the rodeo? A clown?" The few times she'd asked him questions about his past, he had hedged and changed the subject, so she didn't really expect him to offer any information now. "Believe it or not, I always wanted to be a rodeo clown." It figured. "Got a friend who's a rodeo clown." He slanted his hat over his face, and if she didn't know any better, she would swear he was asleep. He worked hard, but he also lounged whenever the opportunity arose. She pulled her gaze away from the long, lean, lazing man to look at the herd. A few of the cattle were beginning to stray, so she gave Red a gentle kick. The horse must have been getting bored, because it leaped forward as if released from a rodeo bucking pen. "Whoa!" came a shout from behind her. Sommer looked over her shoulder in time to see Wade flying through the air. Dear Lord! She quickly spun her horse around, then put her heels to his flanks. Red had barely been reined to a four-point stop when Sommer was off him, running to where Wade lay sprawled on his back, frighteningly still. She crouched down beside his lifeless-looking form, then picked up his hand, a terrified sob escaping her as she frantically searched for a pulse. Finally she felt a faint flutter, but maybe it wasn't his heartbeat ... maybe it was her own ...she couldn't be sure, the way her heart was pounding. She let go of his wrist and put two fingers against his throat, then slid them down toward the side of his neck, searching ... searching.... "Better give it up," he groaned. "I'm dead." She jerked her hand away from his neck, making two closed fists against her bent knees. His eyelids lifted, and he regarded her thoughtfully with those eyes the color of the sky. She let out a shaky breath. When she spoke, her voice was quivering. "I told you you'd fall off." Even though her words seemed unsympathetic, her insides felt like Jell-O. And she had this ridiculous urge to cry. He turned his head to the side until he saw that Pepper was grazing about fifty yards away. Reassured that the horse hadn't bolted, he looked back at Sommer. His hat had fallen off, and his sun-streaked hair was tousled like a sleepy child's. "Sommer...I'm hurt..." he moaned in a low voice. Fresh alarm rushed through her. "Where?"

30

She was scrutinizing the length of him, when she felt strong fingers gently grip her chin and pull her bemused face around to his. "I've seen you kiss Katie's ouchies and make them better," he whispered. "How about mine?" Her breath caught and lay suspended in the small space between them. "Here-here's where I hurt," he coaxed, his voice husky, compelling; his blue, blue eyes, hypnotic. "Right here..." Slowly he pulled her head down, the touch of his fingers on her chin, light, caressing. The contact of his lips when they pressed against hers was cautious and gentle. Her body went from Jell-O to liquid fire. There was a trembling in her limbs. She wanted to melt against the strength of him. His arms came up to surround her, and as they did, the old fear shot through her. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She jerked back, at first afraid he wouldn't release her, but his arms fell away as he watched her with a lazy smile. "Thanks," he finally said. "I'm all better. But I'll know who to come to the next time I have an injury." Anger warring with humiliation, she stood up, then on weak legs, hurried to her horse's side. She gripped the saddle horn and stuck her foot in the stirrup. As she swung herself onto Red's back she felt shocked, wondering how she could have let such a thing happen, and with somebody like him-an irresponsible drifter. Wondering how she would be able to face him the rest of the day ... the rest of the summer. She could feel the heat in her face as she spun her horse around and rode toward Pepper. Acting as if he knew he'd done something wrong, the horse docilely allowed her to grab the reins and lead him back to Wade, who had gotten to his feet and was now walking across the pasture to meet them. Sommer looked at him just long enough to note that his limp was more pronounced than usual, forcing herself to subdue any sympathy she felt. "For a minute there I thought you were going to take Pepper and leave me to walk back," he said, nonchalantly taking the reins from her hand, talking and acting as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just kissed her. Well, he's probably kissed lots of women, she decided resentfully. He was probably kissing women all the time. Kissing them ... touching them... Wade swung himself onto the buckskin's back in one easy, fluid motion. Like an Indian. Then he clicked his tongue at the horse and headed after the cattle.

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It didn't take them long to reach the rim of the valley. From there they could look down upon her ranch house and outbuildings, which lay east of Valle Grande in a secluded valley of their own. Ponderosa pines and blue spruce surrounded the homestead, a rough-hewn bridge spanned the rock-bottomed creek that flowed between the two valleys. Sommer could see Manuel's slight, Jean-clad figure waiting near the corral gate. Sitting on the porch swing were Katie and Maria, the woman's flowered duster billowing in the breeze. Sommer urged her horse down the slope, following the cows and calves toward the corral. When she got there, Wade was already leading Pepper to the lot near the barn. Suddenly a small, darting form came running straight toward him and the unpredictable horse. "Can I have a ride on Red now?" Katie chirped in her child's voice. "Katie!" Sommer shouted, jumping off Red. Too far away to stop her daughter, Sommer could only watch in horror. Pepper's eyes rolled nervously, and his ears stood straight up, but Wade kept a tight grip on the bridle near the buckskin's wide jaw. "Stay back, Katie," Wade said in a low, controlled voice. "Just wait until I put Pepper away." Katie hesitated, then moved toward the fence. The horse calmed, and Wade led it into the grass lot. Sommer let out her breath. He seemed to have a way with both horses and children. Soon Katie was perched confidently on the back of her mother's big red horse. "Don't hold the reins so tight," Wade told her. "Let them hang a little." Katie's face was a study in seriousness as she walked the horse in circles, listening to Wade's calm instructions. "Press your left heel against his left side if you want him to turn left. Thatta girl." "You know, a woman, she is much like a horse," reflected Manuel as he watched from the top rail of the fence, booted heels hooked over the middle railing. "How's that?" Wade asked over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on Katie. "The horse, no matter how many years you have her, you still don't know what she gonna do when you get on her back. One day she might be gentle as the lamb, the next day she might run you under a tree limb just to show you that she the boss." Wade let out a smothered laugh.

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"I heard that, Manuel," Sommer said teasingly as she walked toward them. "We better get these cattle vaccinated and the fly-repellent ear tags put in before it gets any hotter." "Can I help?" Katie asked as Wade swung her to the ground. "Not today, sweetheart," he told her. "You better just watch. I wouldn't want you to get hurt" "Okay." There was only a slight pucker to Katie's bottom lip as she climbed up on the back of the used truck Wade had picked up in Albuquerque. Two hours later they had done thirty out of the sixty-two head. Manuel ran the cattle into the narrow wooden loading pen. As each cow came into the steel chute, Wade pulled a metal lever down, locking its head above the shoulders. Then he immediately pulled another lever to release the back gate of the chute so the cow was immobilized. Once the animal was trapped, Wade took the waiting syringe from Sommer, gave the cow a shot in the neck, then put out his hand for the loaded ear piercer. Not a movement was wasted. Wade was so efficient that Manuel and Sommer were having a hard time keeping up with him. In fact, Sommer should have been washing the repellent from her hands in a nearby bucket after handling the tags. But the cattle were coming so fast that she'd skipped it a few times. Maybe more than a few times... And now her head was beginning to feel thick and dull. But not too dull to observe Wade. Quite some time ago he had stripped off his shirt, and from where Sommer stood she was afforded an unhindered view of his sweat-sheened back. And she couldn't help but notice the way the bright sunlight played across his sinewy muscles as he worked. "Give me the piercer." Wade was holding a cow's ear with his right hand, his left was extended toward her, palm up. His hand remained empty. "Sommer?" When he turned around, she looked at him blankly. Next thing she knew, Wade was removing the tagger from her limp grasp. "You haven't been washing your hands, have you?" She stared up at him. His face was covered with fine, red dust. It made his eyelashes look even thicker than usual. "You haven't, have you? Don't you know those tags are toxic?" he asked sternly. She continued to stare at him. She liked his eyelashes.... Now that they were dusty, she could see how they kind of curled at the ends....

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He made an impatient sound, then propelled her toward the bucket and thrust her hands into the water. She turned her head so she could see his face, surprised to discover that he was angry. His eyebrows were drawn together, and there were white brackets at the corners of his firmly compressed lips. She had never seen him mad, not even two days ago when Katie dented the side of his truck with a baseball bat. Of course, it had been an accident. Katie had sobbed and sobbed. Wade had been so kind, so understanding.... Now he reminded Sommer of the way her father used to act when she had done something wrong.... It was nice the way the two of them were fitted together like spoons, both facing the bucket, with Wade standing behind her. She could feel the heat of his bare skin through the back of her shirt. Feel the steely tautness of his thighs brushing against her hips. He picked up the bar of white soap and started rubbing it on her hands. Then he let go of the soap, and Sommer watched curiously as he began to wash her hands like an adult would a two-year-old child's. His hands were beautiful. Strong and brown and callused. Hers were small and brown and callused-not beautiful ... "Don't," she said quite clearly, trying to tug her hands away. "Don't do that." He pulled her hands back down. "I want to make sure all that stuff is off you." "Don't." She tried to pull away again, but even though her hands were slippery, he kept a tight hold on them, making sure they were well washed. Suddenly she felt incredibly weary, and she quit fighting him, let him continue to scrub at her palms, then rinse them thoroughly. "They're not very pretty, are they?" she asked in a forlorn voice. "What?" His breath tickled her ear. She could feel the hardness of his chest against her back, feel the bard muscled arms that encircled her. "My hands. My hands aren't pretty." He stopped scrubbing. Then, ever so slowly, almost reverently, he brought one of her small, wet, rough brown hands up to his face.... "Your hands are beautiful." He pressed his mouth-the mouth that had kissed her earlier-against her open palm. In his voice she had heard an earnestness she wanted to believe, and she felt tears sting her eyes. She swayed slightly, then caught herself. "We're taking a break," Wade shouted to Manuel, an arm under Sommer's middle. "No..." she protested faintly. 34

Next thing she knew, she was being hauled up tightly against his side as he led her toward the house. "Katie, run in and get a pillow for your mom." Katie, who had become bored with watching the ear tagging, ran into the house, the screen door slamming behind her. Wade made Sommer sit down on the porch swing; then, one at a time, he lifted her feet to remove her boots. When Katie returned with the pillow, Wade put it at one end of the swing, then moved Sommer around so her head was on the pillow, knees bent, stocking feet at the other end. While he was getting her settled, Sommer took the opportunity to let her gaze leisurely browse across his strong features. She liked his sun-bleached eyebrows ... almost as much as she liked his long eyelashes ... and liked the crinkling laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. His hair would probably feel soft, maybe kind of springy, she decided as she studied him with the frank openness of a child. "You have the nicest eyelashes..." she murmured. "Especially when they're all dusty..." Katie giggled and covered her mouth while Wade's sensuous lips curved up at the corners. "Just how reliable is the opinion of someone with dirt on her face?" Treating her as if she were no older than Katie, he licked his finger, then rubbed at a spot on her cheek. She gave him a sleepy smile, then watched curiously as his dusty blue eyes widened. From the back of her groggy, befuddled brain came the gentle reminder that he wouldn't always be here. And she felt a tugging sense of loss. She would miss him. "I'm going to miss you when you leave, Wade Malone," she mumbled before letting her eyelids flutter closed. The wisps of baby-fine hairs around Sommer's hairline were damp, her cheeks pale, contrasting with her flushed, parted lips, and Wade felt as if he'd been kicked in the stomach by a mule. She's confused, he warned himself. It wasn't as if she'd taken truth serum. Handling ear tags without washing your hands brought on confusion, not revelation. He stared down at her, and a futile sense of bittersweet longing wrapped itself around his heart. Five minutes later Katie ran into the house to watch Scooby-Doo, and Maria brought out a pitcher of iced tea and some glasses. "You and Manuel should finish the cattle-let Sommer rest," Maria said in her lilting accent as she put the tea down on the wooden end table.

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Sommer opened her eyes, then struggled to a sitting position. Wade was sitting on the porch railing, shirt back on, one booted foot resting against the rough-planked floor, his expression serious. "Don't worry. She's not doing any more," he said, almost roughly. "It'll take forever with only two people," Sommer protested, taking a glass of tea from Maria. "Forget it," he said abruptly. "You're not going to." She stiffened. "You can't tell me what to do, Wade Malone." Her voice may have sounded weak, but Wade saw the anger flashing in her green eyes. "Just stay here and rest," he said, his own voice coming out gentler now. He drained his glass and put it back on the tray. "We don't want you fainting on us." "Good grief! I've never fainted in my life!" "You came real close just a little while ago." "I did not," she said indignantly. "I'm not going to argue with you." He shrugged. "Who knows, if you come back out and help, I might end up having to give you C.P.R." He had the satisfaction of seeing color flood her cheeks as they both thought of mouth-to-mouth contact. Then he turned and left her sitting there fuming while he went back out to help Manuel finish with the cattle. It did take longer without Sommer's help, but he wasn't going to tell her that. After he released the last cow from the chute, Manuel held out a round tin of chewing tobacco in his callused hand. Wade shook his head. "No thanks." "Don't chew?" Manuel asked, screwing the lid back on the metal container. "That's one bad habit I never developed," Wade said, gathering up the vaccination supplies. "I thought all rodeo caballeros chewed tobacco." He slipped the tin into the back pocket of his jeans where a permanent circle had been worn. "Especially a national winner like you." The words hung in the air, and Wade looked at the slight, wiry man in surprise. "Don't worry. I no say nothing." Wade waited for Manuel to ask why he was here. Why he was doing hard physical labor on a ranch he could buy with pocket change. "When I was seventeen," Manuel said instead, "I rode the rodeo. I thought I wanted to be a steer roper. It was just the little rodeos, but even they can drive a man loco." "No kidding." Wade pushed the vaccination supplies aside so he could sit on the tailgate of the truck. "A person has to have gypsy blood to do the rodeo. I 36

just kind of felt like I'd lost touch with people and real life." He gave a bitter laugh. "When you're thirty-two years old, and your biggest problem is finding a hat that fits tight enough so it won't fly off when the gate opens, well, something's wrong. Really wrong. But you know what the worst part is, Manuel? Never being alone. Managers, agents, reporters, groupies..." Wade shook his head and looked toward the porch. He could see Sommer sitting there, Katie beside her. They were reading a book together. "Everybody needs time alone," Manuel said, pulling at the corners of his black mustache. "But you're not quitting the rodeo? A national winner like you?" "Not right away. I can't. I have a contract to fulfill. Have to compete in the National Finals in Las Vegas this December." Wade took off his hat and absentmindedly rubbed a thumb across the dusty brim. "You know," Manuel said thoughtfully, "you should tell Sommer who you are." "She'd just think I was crazy." Wade ran a hand through his dusty hair. "I don't expect anybody to understand why I'm here." "Sommer might. I know she seems ... hard sometimes. She didn't used to be that way." Wade was curious about her, but he felt it wasn't any of his business. "She married the wrong man," Manuel said, seemingly determined to fill Wade in on her past. "Financially things were bad for them, and with a baby coming..." Manuel shook his head. "Tom just left one day and never came back. Three months later Sommer found out he was killed in a car wreck. So, I guess she learned to be tough. But I think she can learn to not be tough." "Why are you telling me this?" Manuel shrugged. "I just thought you ... maybe..." He didn't need to finish. Cared was the word not spoken. Wade looked back toward the porch, but Sommer and Katie were gone. What Manuel thought was true. He couldn't deny it. The door slammed, and Maria hurried toward them, black purse over her forearm. "You done? Good. You have to take me to the town before the store closes." Manuel threw up his arms. "I'm henpecked, what can I say?" "Oh, si" Maria reached out and playfully tugged at one of Manuel's leathery ears "-henpecked, henpecked."

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"She's crazy about me." Manuel laughed. They climbed into the woodpaneled truck, and Manuel started the engine. Wade put on his hat and stood up. "Hasta luego." "Till we meet again," Manuel replied. After the truck crossed the wooden bridge, Wade turned and walked toward the house. There was a homeyness about Sommer's place that pleased him-with its sprawling front porch, unpainted and made of rough oak, a wood that would last forever, and the white swing gently rocking in the breeze, the only concession to paint on the entire ranch. On the right side of the door was a large dinner bell and on the other was a length of strung red Chile. The leaves of the giant cottonwood rustled and made shifting patterns of light and shadow on the door and porch. Katie was sitting on the ground under the tree, playing with a doll. Wade felt a stab of yearning, and it came to him with a start that he would like all of this to be his. Not the ranch, but the people, the settled homeyness. He didn't want to be a stranger who lighted briefly then flitted out of their lives. Even though Wade gave his address as Las Vegas, Nevada, he felt as though he'd never had a real, settled home. His father had been a salesman, a shady jack-of-all-trades who moved at least once a year. It wasn't until Wade had been left with a great-uncle on a ranch in California that he'd first felt any sense of belonging. He stopped a few feet from Katie. Sweet little Katie. Katie, who could be as serious and intense as her mother. "How's your mom feeling?" Katie looked up at him with her dark eyes. "She says she feels okay now. She was just dizzy's all." "That's good." Evidently noticing him looking at a pile of stones a few feet away, she explained, "That's where Tucker's buried." "Tucker?" "He was Grandpa's dog, then Mom's. He died in the wintertime." "That's too bad." "Better not talk about him to Mom. It makes her sad." Her matter-of-fact words were pulling at his heartstrings, and she didn't even know it. "Maybe she should get a new dog." "That's what Maria tells her. But Mom says no dog could be like Tucker. Tucker could think and feel things just like a person." It seemed as if this tugging at his heart might become commonplace. 38

The front door slammed. "Wade!" Sommer hurried down the steps toward him, a piece of paper in her outstretched hand. His check. "I wanted to catch you before you left." So they were back to employer, employee. Mechanically he accepted the check. He didn't want it, shouldn't take it. But he knew her pride. He'd been up against it before. His fingers brushed hers, and he felt her tremble, sensed she was uncomfortable about what had happened between them earlier. He folded the paper and stuck it in his shirt pocket, knowing it would never be cashed. "I won't be needing you for a few days," she told him, her eyes not quite meeting his. "I'll be delivering the bull tomorrow, and Saturday and Sunday I'll be working the carriage tours for Paul." "Let me take the bull." "No, I'm taking it. But thanks, anyway." "If its my wages you're worried about, I'll do it for nothing." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd said the wrong thing. "I'm perfectly capable of taking a bull to Los Alamos," she said stiffly. And now she was looking him in the eye. "I've been doing it for years." He shrugged. "Okay." What he didn't say was that he planned to go along anyway. After all, somebody had to watch out for her.

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Chapter Four The next afternoon Wade pulled up in front of Sommer's house and climbed out of the truck. Katie came dashing down the front steps. "Wade!" she shouted, jumping into his arms. "Hi ya, sweetheart!" He laughed and swung her around, braids flying straight out from her head. "Where's your mom?" "Out back gettin' the bull loaded. She didn't say you were comin'!" "She probably just forgot to mention it." He put her back down. "Let's go see if she needs any help." When they rounded the corner of the barn, Wade groaned inwardly at what met his eyes. The hood of the Jeep was up. Of course, the scene had its good points. Wade had a perfect view of a shapely bottom and long, jean-clad legs as Sommer leaned over the fender, head under the hood. He grudgingly shifted his eyes away from her backside to focus on the small stock trailer attached to the Jeep. This time he groaned out loud. "What's the matter?" Katie asked as she skipped along beside him. "Don't you feel good?" "Does your mom always deliver bulls with the Jeep and trailer?" "Yeah, 'cept when the Jeep isn't working. Then she has Manuel use the stock truck," she said, pointing. "It's in the shed over there. It's real old and rusty, an' it smokes worse than the Jeep." She ran toward Sommer. "Mom! Look who's coming with us-Wade!" Sommer brought her head out from under the hood, an empty oil can in her hand. Without looking at him, she slammed down the Jeep's hood. "You didn't need to come." Wade started walking around the trailer, inspecting it with a critical eye. "You can't take this thing out on the road-especially a mountain road. The floorboards are shot." "Katie, go to the bathroom before we leave," Sommer told her. Katie trotted off toward the house. Now Wade was looking at the Jeep's bald tires. "The trailer's bad enough, but this Jeep-" He shook his head. "Why don't you let me pull it with my truck-it has a hitch." For a brief second he thought longingly of the new pickup and trailer he'd left in Nevada. 40

"No thanks." When she spoke she didn't look directly at him, and he wondered if she was sore about yesterday. He probably shouldn't have kissed her, but when he had opened his eyes and seen that concerned look on her dace, he just couldn't help himself. Maybe she expected him to apologize, but sorry wasn't what he felt whenever he thought about her sweet mouth touching his. He'd take a spill like that every day if Sommer was his reward.... He forced his mind back to the problem at hand. "Tell you what, if you're taking this-" he kicked a tire "-then you'd better leave Katie with Maria. This setup is an accident waiting to happen." Her dark brows drew together, and she bit her bottom lip in worry. "Come on-I've known mules less stubborn than you" Indecision flitted across her face. "Just admit I'm right-" At that moment Katie appeared around the corner. "I'm bringing Sally," she announced, holding up her doll. "Katie..." Sommer began slowly, "I've decided that you should stay here with Maria." "Mom!" Sommer glanced up at Wade, then back to Katie. "Maria is going to bake some cookies, and I'll bet she'd like your help." Katie's mouth turned down at the corners. "Don't pout," Wade told her. "But we were gonna stop at Lookout Point." "I'll take you there in my truck sometime. How would that be?" Her pout vanished. "Yeah! Can we, Mom?" "We'll see." Sommer looked directly at him and frowned. Wade returned her frown with a smug grin. The road to Los Alamos was primitive and so steep that there were runaway ramps every few miles-ramps built especially for trucks that had lost their brakes on the steep grade. Uncomfortably frequent reminders, Wade thought, of the hazards of the mountain road. "We have to stop at Lookout Point," Sommer announced after they had delivered the bull. On a day like this, when the air smelled of pine trees and cedar, she found it impossible to stay mad at Wade. She pulled up to Lookout Point and shut off the engine, then hurried to stand on the ridge overlooking a deep ravine. "I don't think I've ever been here on such a clear day. Look-you can see all the way across to the Sangre de Cristo

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Mountains," she said over her shoulder. "And that peak-" she moved her hand to the northwest "-is Wheeler Peak. It's almost a hundred miles away." Wade had caught up with her and now his hand lashed out, dragging her back so she wasn't so near the edge. Then he leaned over and looked, letting out a low groan. "How can you say you don't like to fly, and yet you stand here like this?" "At least my feet are on the ground." "They won't be if you keep standing so near the edge." He pulled her back against his solid chest, his fingers wrapped firmly around her shoulders, and a thrill shot through Sommer at the contact. "Sommer..." He turned her in his arms, and she looked up at him, fingers spread against his chest. A strand of black hair had escaped her braid and was blowing across her neck. Slowly he pulled it free, smoothing it back with the rest of her hair. His blue gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes. It was happening again. He was going to kiss her. After she'd sworn never to let him kiss her again. It took all of her willpower to jerk away and hurry toward the Jeep, her heart hammering in her chest. Five minutes later they were driving back down the mountain. Wade thought the narrow mountain road had been treacherous going to Los Alamos, but it was nothing compared to the drive back, which was all downhill. And unfortunately the driver was upset and not using what he would consider good judgment. "Slow down!" he shouted as they careened around a hairpin curve with a sheer drop on the passenger side. "You ride bulls, and you're worried about my driving?" she asked tersely. He shot her a quick glance. "Yes, I'm worried about your driving-especially in this thing. Why don't you pull over and let me drive?" They were approaching another curve. A sign showing the road to be shaped like a snake, flashed by on his right. His foot jammed down on the rusted-out floorboard, frantically tromping down on a brake pedal that wasn't there. "Slow down!" Wade shouted as they ripped around another curve, the trailer swaying precariously behind them. "It's not like you're driving a Ferrari. You're driving an oil-sucking Jeep with four bald tires and-you're pulling a trailer!" Sommer didn't answer. She put in the clutch and shifted down as the Jeep squealed around another curve. "Dammit, pull over! Sommer, I said pull over!" "I can't," she gasped. "The brakes are gone!"

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His eyes flashed to where her right foot was holding the brake pedal all the way to the floor. "The brakes leak. They must be out of brake fluid!" "Pump them, pump them!" "There's nothing to pump!" "Then downshift!" he shouted as they swung around another corner, still picking up more speed. "No. I don't want to tear up the transmission!" "To hell with the transmission!" He grabbed the gearshift. "Put in the clutch," he commanded. "Wait! There's the runaway ramp-here!" The Jeep jerked from its downward path and flew uphill, bouncing crazily along the rough runaway road, a metal barrier looming large and sturdy before them. With a terrible grinding of gears Sommer threw the Jeep into first, and the abused transmission gave out a high-pitched whine. They were almost at a stop when they hit the railing with a jolt, the engine sputtering to silence. "Darn!" She pounded her fist on the dash. "I'll bet I lost first gear." "First gear!" Wade choked. "We were almost killed, and you're worried about 'losing first gear?" They were sitting at an angle, the Jeep grill pointing skyward, the trailer tilted behind them. He looked over at her. She seemed shaken but unhurt. "You okay?" She nodded. "Do you realize how close you just came to running over the edge of a cliff and becoming fertilizer? How close you came to making Katie an orphan?" "Oh, just please shut up, will you?" There was a distinct quiver in her voice. Anger battled relief. An urge to throttle her warred with an urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her, kiss her.... But then pulling her into his arms and almost kissing her was the reason she'd become upset in the first place. He let out a sigh and stared gloomily ahead. There was a crack across the windshield. To replace the window would cost more than the whole Jeep was worth. As he watched the glass made a snapping and popping sound, the crack continuing across its entire width. Well, he supposed the next step would be to survey the rest of the damage. He turned the door handle, shoved his shoulder against the door and stepped out. The Jeep's frame was hooked over the metal guardrail. It would take a winch to lift it free. 43

"Hope you like to walk," he said, watching Sommer gingerly climb from the Jeep. He sat down on a nearby boulder and dabbed absentmindedly at his temple. It must have been his head that had broken the window. A lump was already beginning to form. He always had been hardheaded, he thought grimly. "Wade-you're bleeding! Why didn't you say something?" She took a Kleenex from her purse and began to dab at his forehead. "Don't be too sympathetic. It was my head that broke your precious windshield." "You're going to have a lump as big as an ostrich egg." "Mmm," he muttered to her chest, breathing in the fresh perfume of her skin as she soothed his head. "It's almost stopped bleeding, but it needs some ice." "Mmm." "What are you smiling about?" she asked suspiciously, tilting her head sideways to look down at him. "You have a bump on your head, and we're going to have to walk ten miles." "Let's just stay like this a while." His hands. moved to her hips. As he pulled her even closer, he heard the gasp that caught in her throat. And when she dropped her hand from his forehead, he saw a wariness in her eyes and the fear he was coming to know so well. One of his hands moved to her waist, and with a callused thumb he gently traced her bottom rib through the thin cotton of her shirt. "Wade ... please ... don't." Her voice was a whisper. He could see the rapidly racing pulse throbbing in her slim throat. She moved her hands to his shoulders, as if to push him away. Sometimes it was hard for him to believe she was a grown woman. She acted more like a frightened virgin. "Sommer, what's the matter? I'm not going to attack you." Her eyes grew even darker. Somebody had hurt her. Not somebody-her husband. Anger flared in him, anger like he'd never felt before in his life. "What did he do to you?" "Who?" she asked, startled by his vehemence. "Your-" he almost choked on the word "-your husband." She looked surprised, then uncomfortable. "It's not what you're thinking. Tom was never physically cruel. You don't understand." "But I want to," he said quietly. "I ... I don't want to talk about this-I think we should start walking-" She pulled away, and rather than upset her more, he let her go. 44

She couldn't seem to get away from him fast enough. Immediately she started off down the road, bracing herself against the downhill plunge. And as he watched her go, a sense of frustration built in him. He'd only touched her. Why was she making this so hard? He got up and began to limp after her. His head wasn't the only thing that hurt. His knee must have met the dashboard, his bad knee, and the pain seemed to be fueling his irritability. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, once he'd caught up with her. "Nothing," she snapped, keeping her eyes on the road. "So just drop it." "I won't drop it." Wade, who had once taken two years to gentle a wild mare, was feeling impatient with Sommer. "You know what your problem is? You're afraid." "Afraid? Of what?" "Me." He reached out and caught her arm. She glared up at him. "That's absurd!" "You're scared of me; admit it." "I'm not scared of you," she said, looking him square in the eyes with one of the best bluffs he could ever recall seeing. "You know what I think? I don't think you've ever been kissed properly, and I don't think you've ever had love made to you properly." His words stunned her. She was staring at him in shocked surprise. "That's ... not true...." she finally stammered. "After all, I ... I've been married." "So how come you act like a colt that hasn't been broke to lead?" "Broke to lead?" she fumed. "For heaven's sake, I'm not a stock animal!" She started walking again. "And another thing-you have no business butting into my personal life. None at all!" He fell in beside her, deciding he liked her mad. Because when she was mad, she wasn't afraid of him. Suddenly he stifled a groan as he felt an all-toofamiliar tearing in his bad knee, followed by a popping sound. "Wade?" She had stopped when he stopped. "I can't go any farther," he told her, not quite able to keep the pain from his voice. "My knee's given out." He hobbled to the side of the road and eased himself down in some weeds. Just when things were getting interesting... She hurried to his side, their argument forgotten. "Is there anything I can do?" "No, I just have to stay off it-put some ice on it when we get back. Somebody will eventually come down this road, and we can catch a ride." 45

"Does it hurt very much?" He was loving the concern on her face, in her voice. "Not too much. If I don't move it." It hurt like hell. Leaving a good three feet between them, Sommer sat down, then picked up a blade of grass and began to twist it nervously between her fingers. Wade settled back on his elbows, sore leg extended in front of him. "So this Tom was an okay guy, you say?" He just couldn't seem to let it drop. He had to find out. Sommer made an impatient sound. "Oh, all right. If you really have to know. Tom... was charming ...very sweet, really. He just didn't live by the same oldfashioned rules as I did, that's all." She gave a pained laugh. "He ... ah ... didn't believe in the bonds of holy matrimony... especially the part about sticking together till death do you part-for richer or poorer." She wound her arms around her knees and hugged them to her. "He just couldn't accept responsibility." "Bet you hated him-" He tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice and almost succeeded. "No... it was impossible to hate Tom. I couldn't hate him for being a free spirit." Nervously she cleared her throat. "I just quit loving him, that's all." Wade hated him. He almost wished he was still alive so he could have the satisfaction of working him over. But then if he was still alive, he might still be married to Sommer. Unthinkable. But he still hated him. He hated him because he had touched her, made love to her, hurt her. And he hated him because what he had done to Sommer was causing her to keep a protective cage around herself. "I'm sorry," he said. "There's nothing for you to be sorry about." But there was. She'd been hurt-and that was more than enough reason for him to be sorry. Sommer twisted the blade of grass until it was mangled, then she dropped it to the ground. "Yes," she suddenly whispered in a dry voice. "Yes?" She'd lost him. "You're right. You do scare me." She was looking straight ahead, at a pinon tree. Her confession was childishly honest, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her tightly, never let go. "Being scared is okay," he said quietly. "Everybody gets scared." "What scares you?" He could tell by her expression that she didn't think he could be scared of anything. 46

Losing you-never having you to lose, were the words that popped into his head. "Rodeoing," was the word he spoke. "Rodeoing? But that's what you do-" "I know, but it still scares me. Right before that gate swings open...when the gate man's waiting for me to nod, to give the signal ... that's when it's the roughest." "Why do you do it then?" "Maybe because it's such a good feeling when you make it, when you conquer that fear." He could tell by her expression that she understood the double meaning of his words, because her eyes darkened. He was telling her not to be afraid of him. Suddenly they both heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Sommer jumped up in time to wave down the battered truck, its cab crammed full with a dark-skinned farmer, his wife, two children and the family dog. "In need of a ride, my friend?" the man asked. "We had a breakdown," Wade explained, limping over to stand at Sommer's shoulder. "We're heading for Sulfur Springs." "I can take you that far if you don't mind riding in the back." He squinted his eyes and looked at Wade more closely. "Don't I know you, amigo?" Wade slowly shook his head. "I don't think so." Here it comes, he thought. The man had recognized him. "Didn't you used to shear the sheep for Louise Ortega?" Wade let out his breath in relief. So much for fame. "No." "Funny, you look like the same guy. But then, all you gringos look the same to me." His teasing grin showed a mouthful of gaps and dark teeth. "Don't you listen to him," said his wife, leaning toward the window. "He think he making the joke. Humph!" Wade climbed into the back of the pickup, then held out his hand to help Sommer up. "Sheep wool!" she groaned, wrinkling her nose in distaste as he pulled her onto the bed of the truck. The driver was obviously a sheepshearer returning from a prosperous day of work. Everything was coated with greasy lanolin. With a lurch the truck rolled away, throwing Wade and Sommer down on the burlap bags full of wool. Sommer held her shirttail to her nose, trying to block out the smell of lanolin and unwashed sheep wool, but it didn't do any good. The stench was all around them. It burned her throat. It stung her eyes. 47

"A great way to wrap up the day!" Wade shouted over the roar of the truck's mufflerless motor. Sommer attempted to frown at him. But then the corners of her mouth slowly turned up, and Wade thought it was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud, bathing him with warmth. Strands of dark hair had worked loose from her braid and were whipping around them, stinging both their faces. "Eee? What you say?" The driver stuck his head farther out the window. "Nice day!" Wade shouted. "Si, senor. A good day for the shearing of the sheep!" Wade gave Sommer a wink, then with hands behind his head, he leaned back against the wool bags, totally relaxed. He wondered if Sommer knew how hard it was to get sheep grease out of clothes, not to mention hair and skin. Probably not, he thought with a grin. Or she wouldn't be smiling like that.

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Chapter Five Sommer was getting the horses harnessed for a tour when Wade strolled into the dim barn. He was wearing jeans and a white cotton shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned, the hair at his temples damp from the heat. Since their adventure with the Jeep and trailer two days ago, Sommer and Wade's relationship had subtly changed. Although his presence still had a strange effect on her pulse rate, there was now a familiarity between them that hadn't been there before. And that familiarity worried Sommer. She hadn't seen it coming. If only she had, maybe she could have stopped it, but now it was too late, and they were no longer just employer, employee. Infiltration... "I've got to hand it to you," Wade said, looking across the swayback of the white mare they had bought at the auction, "now that her feet are trimmed, this ugly nag isn't a half-bad horse." "Guess that just goes to show looks aren't everything." Sommer threw the harness over the mare's back, stirring up smells of hay, horse, old leather and saddle soap. Wade reached under the belly of the animal to attach the leather straps. "Who's going on the tour? Not the nuclear family I just saw in the bar." "I'm afraid so." He let out, a low whistle, and the horse's ears perked up. "Things could get wild." Sommer smiled. He was teasing. She'd already talked with the tourists. Staid and conservative would be very good words to use in describing them. After both horses were harnessed, they led them outside to hitch them to the wagon. The late June heat bore down, searing through the back of Sommer's shirt. She couldn't remember the temperature in Sulfur Springs ever rising above ninety, but it had to be close to breaking that record today. Wade was bending down to attach the drawbar to the leather breast strap when the mare reached down and nipped his ear. He jumped back to glare at the animal. "She's not only ugly, she's mean. She bit me!" "Beauty doesn't bite," Sommer scoffed. "She was just being playful." "Beauty? You named her Beauty?" He laughed and rubbed the mare's soft nose. "How appropriate." After the horses were hitched, Sommer hopped into the wagon, Wade jumping in beside her. "How about letting me play tour guide?" 49

"You don't know the first thing about the tour," she laughed. "What would you tell them?" "I'd think of something." "That's what I'm afraid of." "Well then, I'll just come along for the ride." Sommer felt a rush of elation, then quickly tucked the emotion safely away. She clicked her tongue, and they moved down the short slope to stop in front of the tavern. No breeze stirred the quaint folk-art sign hanging above the wooden porch. Then the family of three was piling out the door and clambering into the back seat of the wagon. "You know I don't like the odor of horses," the large woman complained to her husband. She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a lipstick-blotted tissue to hold up to her nose. "Don't worry," Wade said reassuringly as he looked over his shoulder at her. "You won't be able to smell the horses once we get to the springs." Because the springs smelled worse, Sommer thought wryly. As the horses pulled the wagon up the incline, Wade put his arm across the back of the buggy seat and turned to the tall man sitting directly behind him. "Where you from?" "Cambridge." The man's voice was clear and precise, his back straight as a test tube. "Wait. Don't tell me-" Wade Said. "You're a physicist on your way to Los Alamos, right?" "Yes. We want to see where the first atom bomb was made, and my son suggested we take the scenic, primitive back road." "Ah." Wade nodded and glanced at the boy, a smaller version of the father, then drummed his fingers on the top of the seat, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. "Ugh!" the woman moaned, pressing the tissue to her nose. Sommer saw Wade's smile broaden. They had reached the springs. Sommer thought the smell of hot sulfur had to be one of the worst odors in nature. "Mother, it's the sulfur," the boy patiently explained, pushing his horn-rims back onto his nose with a thumb. "What type of sulfur is it?" he inquired loftily. Sommer glanced over her shoulder at his smug expression, then looked at Wade, panic in her face. She had been giving these tours for two years, and never had anyone asked her what type of sulfur it was. She frantically racked her brain for something intelligent sounding to say... but chemistry had always been her worst subject. 50

"Sulfur exists in about ten forms and makes up about fifteen percent of the earth's core," the child said in his nasal voice. "It's amorphous sulfur, a liquid sulfur," Wade supplied without a blink. Sommer's head swung around to stare at him. He was leaning into the seat, one elbow back, looking very relaxed. As usual. "What temperature are the springs?" the boy quizzed. "Temperature?" Sommer asked with rapidly growing dismay. "Ah, well..." She turned, smiling sweetly at Wade. "Perhaps Mr. Malone can better explain that." Wade casually placed a bent leg on the seat, one blue-jeaned knee rubbing against Sommer's hip, and turned so he could see the boy. "As I'm sure you know," he began in a scholarly tone, "sulfur melts at one-hundred and twelve point eight degrees centigrade, and..." Wade's voice droned on and on, while the boy's smug look faded. "Here we are at the mines," Sommer said, interrupting Wade's monologue, hoping he would turn around and move his knee from where it brushed so disturbingly against her. "But I haven't finished telling them about the sulfur springs," Wade protested. Sommer threw him a look she hoped was disapproving, then edged as far to her side of the seat as she could, which was only about an inch. "I'm sure it was adequate." He smiled, obviously aware of what she was doing, and his smile stirred a million butterflies in her stomach. "These started out as gold mines," she explained over her shoulder, feeling confident with her subject matter this time. "But when the gold ran out, they were quickly converted to coal mines." "What type of coal was mined here?" the boy asked. Sommer gritted her teeth and swiped at the sweat running down the side of her face. Her head was beginning to pound, and she had the sneaking suspicion that Wade was trying not to laugh. Right now she wished she could dump the whole bunch of them down a mine shaft. "Coal. Type of coal..." "There are four types of coal," the boy stated. "I know that," Sommer lied. The father didn't interrupt as his son fired questions at Sommer like a prosecuting attorney. The mother was dabbing the tissue at her red, perspiring face. 51

"Subbituminous." "What?" Sommer couldn't believe this was happening. "Subbituminous," Wade repeated. "And because of the sulfur springs so near, it had to be a high-sulfur coal, which I'm sure you know can cause serious air pollution." "I knew that," protested the boy. "He knew that," the father said. Sommer wasn't sure who was the most relieved when the tour was over, the tourists or the tour guide. And Wade! Wade had actually acted as if he'd enjoyed the whole disaster. "Obnoxious brat," Sommer grumped as they led the horses back to the barn. "Yeah, the little guy was a walking chemistry book," Wade commented as he hung the harnesses on the wall. "He was? What about you? Was that true, all that stuff you were talking about? Or did you just make it up?" she asked suspiciously. "I've had a little education." He shrugged. "Just goes to show you, you never know when trivial information like that's going to come in handy." "A little education! You could write a field guide to coal and sulfur." "Hey, don't give me ideas." With Wade whistling a few bars of "Workin' in a Coal Mine," they walked to the Purple Onion, where Paul had glasses of iced tea waiting for them. "Got a headache?" Paul asked when he noticed Sommer rubbing her temples. "Between the heat and the child prodigy-yes." "Bummer. Better go home and sleep it off." "Paul, I'm not drunk." She took a drink of tea. "But going home doesn't sound like a bad idea." She finished her tea, then thanked Wade for "helping" with the tour. When she stepped out the tavern door and headed for the Jeep, it felt as if she was walking through a blast furnace. Her light cotton shirt stuck to her back, and she could feel the perspiration beginning on her forehead. Sitting down on the Jeep's black vinyl seat was like sitting on a hot plate. The steering wheel seared her hands. She turned the key, and the motor immediately responded. After having the Jeep towed down the mountain, Wade had put in new spark plugs, along with a brand-new brake fluid line. He wanted to completely overhaul the engine, but Sommer wouldn't let him. She didn't want to feel indebted. 52

She drove up the twisting highway to the dirt road that marked the edge of her property. What she needed was a cool swim, she decided as the Jeep jarred and shimmied across the cattle guard. So instead of turning right, toward home, she turned left. The Jeep bounced along the rough, rutted road until she pulled it to a stop beside a group of tall pines. As soon as she stepped under the protection of the huge trees the air felt cooler. Dappled light flitted across ground that was bare except for pine needles scrunching under her booted feet. The icy-cold spring-fed pool lay in a dark, secluded area, a place where Sommer could be sure of complete peace and privacy. She took the rubber band from her hair, then quickly peeled off her damp jeans and shirt. Wearing only her underwear, she slipped into the water. At first the chill took her breath away, but she soon became used to it, the coolness soothing her hot skin and calming her headache. She swam vigorously for a while, then just glided, enjoying the silky feel of the water against her bare skin and the heavy tug of her loose, flowing hair. Without any effort her thoughts turned to Wade and her undeniable attraction to him. What did she know about him? Nothing, except that he made her pulse rate increase. And how kind he could be, how gentle ... and funny.... She smiled. That business about the sulfur and coal-he'd sounded as if he were a geology major. Certainly not your typical drifter. If only she hadn't hired him in the first place. If only she'd never put that ad in the paper. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. But then she would never have known him. And that thought brought with it a cold emptiness, followed by a deep dread. The familiar fear washed over her. She knew she wasn't afraid of him as a person. She was afraid of what he could do to her. He could turn her world upside down-which was something she couldn't allow, wouldn't allow. She had let herself become a victim of love once before, let herself be manipulated by a love that had dried up and blown away like desert sand-all except for a few grains.... For the last several years she had been safe. Until now. Wade was the first man she'd felt any attraction to since Tom. But what was really scary was the fact that Wade had some of those very traits that had drawn her to her husband, the very traits that had kept her from being able to hate Tom. The charm, the wit ... the zest for living. The reality of the situation came to her in a rush of heart-stopping panic. She could love Wade. So very, very easily. 53

What was she going to do? What could she do to keep from being hurt again? She had to be strong, be tough, be aware. She had to ignore the pull she felt whenever he was around. "Sommer!" A deep, all-too-familiar voice shouted from a distance, from around the curve in the pool. It was almost as if her thoughts had conjured him up just to torment her. Treading water, she frantically looked for a place to hide. "I know you're in there," Wade shouted, his voice edged with laughter. "I found your clothes." Good grief. "Go away!" "I don't think so!" She listened, the sound of her heartbeat hammering in her ears. Then she heard it-a splash. Using cutting strokes, she quickly moved to a shallower area where she could at least touch the rocky bottom, the water just covering her breasts. Thank goodness she had left her underwear on, she thought, glancing down through the crystal-clear water. She let out a dismayed gasp. Her modest bra and panties weren't modest anymore. They were sheer and sexy looking. Frantically she pulled her loose hair down around her, but as soon as she let go, it floated back to the top of the water like a dark, silky lily pad. With strong strokes Wade swam across the pool, stopping just a few feet from her and shaking the water from his hair. "Didn't anybody tell you you're not supposed to swim alone?" he asked, catching his breath. Swimming with this man could be much more dangerous than swimming along. Much more. He was so near that she could see the water sparkling off his thick, dark eyelashes. "You followed me," she accused, gliding away as she spoke. "So what?" He glided toward her. "Why didn't you tell me you were going swimming? This is a great idea." "I didn't tell you, because I wanted to come by myself. Go away while I get dressed." But he only moved closer. She watched in fascinated dismay as he walked toward her, the glistening muscles in his arms rippling, the water lapping at his broad, dark-haired chest. Then he reached out to pick up some strands of her floating hair, as if amazed by it. "I won't hurt you," he coaxed gently.

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She tried to retreat, but he was holding her hair. Did he have anything on? She didn't dare look down. But to look in his eyes ... that was something she always tried to avoid. "I'd never hurt you, Sommer." Now he was within touching distance. Slowly he traced a wet, callused finger across the rapidly beating pulse in her neck. His touch was achingly light, like a whispered promise. "Wade ... please," she begged, dry mouthed. She putt her hands against his wet, rock-hard chest and weakly attempted to push him back. "I can't think when you do that,.." Tom had never, never made her feel like this. This lightheadedness, this shortness of breath. This strange, scary-fascinating tingling ... "You don't need to think. You just need to trust me." "I can't" she whispered, terror in her heart, in her eyes. "You can learn to." "I don't want to." "Sommer." One of his work-roughened hands came up to carefully cup her chin. "You're a shiftless drifter." "I'm not a drifter." He was staring at her mouth. Heaven help her, he was going to kiss her. Then he was kissing her.... She was suddenly part of a swirling, ear-ringing world of sensations: of bare wet skin pressed against bare wet skin; of solid arms wrapping around her back, pulling her closer, holding her tightly and lips, wet and cool from the water, moving over hers. She had gone weak all over, and now, instead of feebly trying to push him away, she was clinging to him, her hands clutching his strong arms. A warning bell was clanging in her head, but she ignored it, opening her mouth for his deepening kiss, moving closer, wanting to feel his hard length against her. She sighed into his mouth, and she felt his tugging smile against her lips, heard his deep, satisfied chuckle. Who would have guessed that wet lips would feel this way? Cold on the outside from the icy water, but warm, so warm on the inside. One rough-tender hand moved down her back, then over the satiny smoothness of her bikini underwear, cupping her bottom and pulling her closer to him. His lips had moved away from her mouth, to kiss and trail down her neck and throat, then back to her mouth again. The world had been kicked out from under her. If she hadn't been clinging to his shoulders, she would have drowned. His hand moved down to stroke her 55

breast, one callused thumb rubbing her hard nipple through the sheerness of her bra. A rush of longing shuddered through her. She wished he would push the fabric aside, slip the straps from her shoulders.. . . "Wade..." she whispered against his mouth. "Please..." Though the words were the same ones she had spoken earlier, now they had a totally different meaning. Through a bemused fog, she became aware that his hands were now on her arms, and his mouth had left hers. She looked up at him with cloudy eyes. "There," he told her, a half smile on his face. His voice held a tender quality she had never heard in it before, not even when he was talking to Katie. And there was a strange light in his eyes. "There what?" she asked mechanically. "Now you've been kissed properly." "I've been kissed properly before," she breathed. "Just never-improperly." He laughed, giving her a quick kiss on her nose while she stood bemused before him. Then he turned her around so she was facing the shore. "Go get dressed." "Get dressed?" she asked the shoreline, disappointment rushing through her. "Dressed. As in putting on your pants one leg at a time." "Why?" "Before things get more improper." By the time she reached her clothes, her mind was functioning once again. Her pants stuck to her, and she almost fell over as she pushed a wet leg into her jeans. She wasn't waiting for her body to dry. Heavens no! Her cloudy thoughts had cleared, and she knew she had to get dressed and out of here before Wade made another appearance. How had it happened? Why had she let it happen? Why had she let it go so far-come to this? She felt her cheeks flush, then pale as her nerves took hold. She grabbed up her shirt. Her fingers trembled and she had three buttons buttoned before she saw they were the wrong ones. She had to undo them and start all over. She pulled her hair out of her shirt. It lay down her back, soaking through her shirt and dripping onto her jeans. Pulling it over her shoulder, she started squeezing the water out. "Sommer." She jumped about a foot. Wade was walking toward her. His jeans were on, shirt slung over one shoulder, boots in hand. Her mouth trembled, and suddenly she felt like crying. Quickly she returned her attention to her hair, intent on 56

squeezing more water out. Three seconds later she was angry. Why was he doing this to her? Why? Why? It wasn't fair. He had no right, no right to confuse her, to hurt her. He had said he would never hurt her, but he already had. He already had! Wade sat down under the cottonwood and started pulling on his boots. When he was done, he looked up at her. "You're mad." She slung her hair behind her with a heavy smack. "Yes." She couldn't believe this was happening. Just like Tom. But different, her mind teased. Tom had never moved her the way Wade could. Never. And there lay the danger, making Wade an even greater threat than Tom had ever been. Wade stood up and started walking toward her. She saw the strange gleam in his eyes and took a step back. Then she drew a deep, shaky breath and held up one hand, as if to ward him off. "I want you to leave." He must have seen her fear, because he stopped and regarded her closely. "Okay," he said finally, making her heart feel as if it had turned over in her chest. No argument, just "okay." "But we're going to talk about this later, when you're not upset." "No, you don't understand. I want you to leave. For good. I don't want you to work for me anymore." She could read every nuance of his expression: the dawning realization of what she meant, the hurt, then finally the anger. "You mean I'm fired. Isn't that the word you're looking for?" She swallowed, looked down at her hands, then back up, her eyes focusing on the tree behind him. "Yes." The word came out weak and shallow, so she tried again. This time it was louder. "Yes. I'll have your check ready whenever you want to pick it up." She couldn't face him anymore, so she picked up her boots and, barefoot, turned and started walking. "I don't want your damn money!" he shouted after her. She just kept walking, keeping the tears from her eyes by sheer force of will. "I don't want your damn money!" he repeated, his voice nearer this time. She swung around in time to see him barreling down on her. He grabbed her by one arm, pushing her against a tree. Then he leaned over her, his eyes intense. "Let me go-" she said in a quivering voice. "No! Not until we get things straight between us."

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She closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at his angry face. "What do you want?" Her words were a hoarse whisper. "You," he said in a low voice. Her eyes flew open. Her heart was beating like a hollow drum. His blue eyes were boring into her green ones. She felt like an animal trapped in the sights of a hunter's rifle. He seemed so huge and male as he towered over her, droplets of water clinging to the ends of his hair, falling on her bare arm, the smell of crushed pine needles under them. From somewhere she dredged up enough willpower to look him squarely in the eyes, knowing that her words had to hold conviction or she would betray herself. She could cry later. She had the rest of her life to cry. "Get this straight: I don't want you."

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Chapter Six When you comin' back?" Paul asked as Wade paid his bill. "I'm not." A dozen times Wade had almost told Sommer who he was. Well, now she would never have to know. "I thought you were stayin' till August." "I changed my mind." "Does Sommer know you're leavin'?" Paul asked with puzzled concern. "She knows." Wade didn't feel like elaborating. "Well, it's been real nice having you here. Hope you make it back sometime." Paul walked around the counter and held out his hand. "Take it easy." "You, too" Women were nothing but trouble, Wade decided as he drove up the road to the McBlain Ranch so he could tell Katie goodbye. He'd seen it coming... should have hightailed it out that first day.... From now on he would stick to rodeoing and horses. There were worse ways of getting hurt than being trampled by a horse or gored by a bull. He wished he'd never seen that ad in the Albuquerque paper. Wished he'd never heard of a place called Valle Grande or met a woman with Irish-green eyes. He was a sucker, that was all there was to it. He'd let them get to him, work their way into his heart. Sommer and Katie, even Maria, Manuel and Paul. He'd always been too open with people, that was his problem. He should be more like Sommer-tough, not letting anyone in. He pulled up in front of the house and stepped from the truck. Before he could knock, Maria opened the kitchen door. "Wade! What a nice surprise! Come in, come in." "No thanks. I can't stay. I just stopped to say goodbye." "Goodbye?" Katie poked her head between Maria and the doorframe. Her worried black eyes were drilling holes right through his heart. "You aren't leaving, are you?" Maria asked. Why did he feel like such a heel? Little Katie was staring at him in disbelief. Her bottom lip was quivering. "You were gonna stay and help with the hay, you said so..." Katie slipped past Maria to attach herself to his leg like a baby coon.

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He unlatched her arms and crouched down in front of her. "I've got to go, Katie. I'm sorry about not helping with the hay, and sorry I never took you to Lookout Point, like I said I would. A person should always do what he says he's going to do, always keep his promises." "You can't leave yet," Maria said. "Sommer's not here. She would wanna see you before you go." He stood up. "That's okay." He felt relieved-and maybe a little disappointed at the same time. "You can tell her 'bye for me." "Mom rode Pepper out to find a calf." Katie had to be mixed-up. Sommer had more sense than to ride that crazy horse. "Are you sure she took Pepper?" "She couldn't use Red. He's got a bruised foot." "When did she leave?" "About two hours ago," Maria supplied. Wade felt a sense of foreboding. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, the world was still turning, but not for him. Pictures of Sommer were flashing through his brain: of her body twisted, her foot caught in the stirrup, the horse dragging her. "I'm going to look for her," he said, heading toward the truck. "Do you think something's wrong?" Maria asked as she and Katie hurried after him. "I never thought about her taking Pepper...." Wade jumped in the truck and slammed the door. "Don't worry," he said, trying to allay their fears while his own ran wild. "She probably stopped at Eagle Nest to watch the birds. She does that sometimes." With preoccupied precision he backed, then threw the truck into first and headed up the slope to Valle Grande. Wade knew fear. Hell, didn't he face it every time he got on a bronc or a wild bull's back? But that was nothing compared to what he was feeling now. Terror was gushing through his veins; his stomach felt as if he'd just eaten three miles of barbed wire; his palms were so sweaty they slipped on the steering wheel as he fought to keep the truck's tires from edging into the large, rain-cut gullies on either side of the road. He finally topped the ridge and came to a halt above Valle Grande. Binoculars ... he should have brought Sommer's binoculars. Quickly he scanned the green pasture, then the valley's edge. He saw a splotch of color, and a chill ran through him. It was a body lying on the ground.

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He jammed the truck into gear and gunned the accelerator. Each rotation of the tires seemed to take at least a year. It was like a bad dream. He had his foot on the gas, but he wasn't getting anywhere.... Sommer sat with her back against a tree, cradling her injured arm with her good hand. How could she have done something so stupid? She hadn't been dumped from a horse in years. She should have known better than to ride Pepper-but lately she hadn't been thinking straight. She had stayed awake all last night worrying about Wade, wondering if he'd left yet, regretting her harsh words of yesterday, trying to convince herself that she'd done the right thing in telling him to leave. If she'd been thinking clearly, she would have taken the Jeep today, not Pepper. But she had felt the urge to ride across the valley, hoping the mountain air would help erase thoughts of Wade. A rabbit had run in front of them, causing Pepper to shy and rear, dumping Sommer on the ground. When she tried to catch him, the pain in her arm became so intense that she felt sick and dizzy from it, quickly realizing she would have to wait until someone came looking for her. She heard the sound of an engine and looked to the east. Wade. Oh, Lord. Why'd it have to be Wade? Why couldn't it be Manuel? She didn't want Wade to find her like this: vulnerable and at his mercy. And what would she say to him? What could she say after yesterday? Sitting up straighter, she looked away from the approaching truck toward the west at two jet streams that crossed the sky, making a giant X. She heard the truck engine shut off, heard the door slam. "Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Wade roared, barreling down on her like a madman. "Everybody's worried sick about you, and here you sit, daydreaming. Who do you think you are-Queen of Valle Grande?" Sommer would have laughed if she hadn't felt so miserable. "Where's your horse?" She didn't attempt to get up. She just sat with legs stretched out, arms folded in front of her, back against the tree. "Over there somewhere," she told him, motioning behind her with a toss of her head. "I tried to catch him." She would have to get up sooner or later; it might as well be sooner. She moved slightly and all the color drained from her face. "What the-" Wade strode to her side and crouched down, for the first time noticing the dirt on her jeans. Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. 61

He let out a long, shaky breath. "I was worried. Then when I saw you sitting here..." His voice trailed off. He saw the way she was holding her arm close, shielding it with her body. "Let's have a look at it." She hesitated, then lifted her uninjured arm away. "I think it might be broken." It took him two seconds to come to a decision. "There's no `thinking' to it. You're going to have to go to Albuquerque to have that set," he told her. "But first we've got to get you there." He strode to the truck and came back with a plastic feed bucket. "This'll keep your arm secure." With wire cutters he trimmed the bucket to make a temporary brace. Placing her forearm in the curved plastic, he tied the makeshift cast with strips of a cut-up T-shirt. By the time he was finished, Sommer was deathly pale beneath her tan. "I think I'm going to be sick!" "Put your head down." Without waiting he pushed it down for her. "Better?" he asked after some of her color had returned. She gave him a weak nod while waves of pain crashed over her. "You're pretty good at this. Don't tell me," she whispered in a pain-filled voice, "you're a doctor as well as a geologist and a rodeo cowboy." "I've seen a good share of broken bones." He paused, then added wryly, "Most of them mine." Sommer leaned back against the tree and sat very still, knowing she couldn't even try to get up until the pain subsided. "Look-an eagle," Wade said in an obvious attempt to draw her mind away from her injury. He sat down beside her, and together they looked up at the sky. "It sees something," she said softly. "A rabbit." He pointed. "Watch. The eagle will come in low, from the west so the rabbit can't see its shadow." The eagle swept down behind the rabbit. But before he could pick it up in its sharp talons, the furry animal disappeared into a hole in the ground. "The Indians have a belief," Sommer said as she watched the eagle gain altitude once more. "They say that whoever is touched by the eagle's shadow will forever walk in the sunlight.... When I was little, I was always trying to catch its shadow." "Did you ever do it? Catch it?" "No." "Maybe someday you will."

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"No. I don't believe in that kind of thing anymore." She was quiet for a time, then she looked up at him. "I think I'm ready to go now." When he bent over to lift her, she protested. "No, just help me stand." He slowly pulled her to her feet. She gasped in pain, white lines showing around her mouth, the blood draining from her face until she came close to fainting. "Sommer, this isn't going to work." With infinite care he lowered her back to the ground. "If it hurts when you're sitting still, you're not going to want to ride down the mountain in the truck-it would be too rough." He went to the truck and came back carrying his duffel bag and a quilt. "Lean on this." He put the bag behind her. "So... you were leaving...." "Yeah. I stopped to tell Katie goodbye and found out you were on Pepper." He put the quilt on her lap. "Rest your arm on that." He was leaving.... And he hadn't planned on seeing her first. Her throat felt tight all of a sudden. "I hate to leave you here alone." "Alone?" "I'm going to get my plane." "Plane?" she asked blankly. "It's a two-hour drive to Albuquerque, but only twenty minutes by air. Flying will keep you from being jarred too much." "But Wade-" she took a deep, shuddering breath "-I don't fly." "I'll keep it smooth and level, I promise. And if you're worried about that little problem I was having with the fuel gauge, it's been taken care of." Before she could answer, he stood up. "I'll be back in less than twenty minutes, okay?" She gave him a vague nod. Through a haze of pain and worry, she stared at the quilt. She could swear it was the same one she had admired at the horse auction, the one she and Wade had bought raffle tickets on.... Tracing a finger along the pastel wedding-ring pattern, she recognized the fine, delicate stitches of... Hettie ... wasn't that the woman's name? But Wade had never mentioned winning the quilt.... It seemed as if he'd only been gone a few minutes when she heard the drone of an engine overhead. The ache in her arm was bearable now as long as she remained perfectly still, but the slightest of movements sent shards of pain flashing through her arm, followed by nausea and faintness.

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Then Wade was there beside her. "Don't worry about Katie and Maria. I stopped to tell them I'm taking you to Albuquerque. Now, put your good arm around my neck, and I'll pick you up." Sommer did as he said, wondering if she had ever told him how terrified she was of flying.... The first time she had ever flown had been when she was ten. Her father had been taking her to a cattle show in Colorado, but she became so hysterical that shortly after takeoff the pilot of the private plane was forced to turn around and land. Her father had never made her fly again. Wade was achingly careful as he carried Sommer to the plane, but it didn't keep the hot flashing pain from tearing through her arm. He set her in the seat, then gently tucked the quilt around her. She focused on the control panel, breathing in and out with a rhythmic pattern until the pain faded to a throb. Her injury had overshadowed everything, including her fear of flying. But now she gradually became aware of her surroundings. She felt as if she'd been put in a dark hole. The floor and seats were tilted, and when she looked out the window, she could see nothing but sky. From the outside Wade gave the prop some quick turns, then he was back beside her, starting the engine. It coughed and sputtered, then with one terrific blast, roared to life. "I'll have to strap you in!" he shouted over the roar of the deafening engine. She nodded, and he reached over and attached her seat belt. "If you want to talk, you'll have to wear the headphones." He pointed to the set that hung in front of her. She shook her head. "Okay!" He picked up the other set and put them on. "Here goes!" The airplane began to roll, veering from left to right so Wade could see where he was going. As it picked up speed, the tail raised and the plane leveled, allowing them to see out the front window. He pushed the throttle forward, and their speed increased. Then the wheels left the ground. Sommer felt as if she were being smothered; she couldn't take a breath. If movement were possible, she would have opened the door and jumped out. This is unnatural, she thought. I shouldn't be up here. Flying has got to be against the laws of nature ...or should just be against the law.... The Wright brothers-it was all their fault. If there weren't any planes, then nobody would be expected to fly. There would be no reason to explain that you didn't fly because you were a terrible coward.... 64

Sommer realized her mind was running full throttle in every direction. She forced herself to take shallow breaths, as she'd learned in childbirth classes. And while breathing in and out she focused on the oilpressure dial in front of her. But it didn't help. Ten minutes later her body was covered with a sheen of perspiration, fear coming from every pore. Hang on, hang on, she chanted in her mind. Her breathing was short and fast. She was feeling dizzy and nauseated. Just a little farther, and it will all be over, she promised herself. Just a little farther... Five minutes later she felt Wade bank the plane and begin their approach to the airport. "This is five, niner, niner, five, checking for runway clearance," Wade said into the radio. She prayed for the tower to give them clearance, and they did. Almost there, she reassured herself. "Hang on!" Wade shouted as they neared the tiny strip. Hang on? The nails of her good hand were going to be a permanent fixture in his seat, she was already hanging on so tightly! The wheels touched the ground, and just when Sommer thought her nightmare was over and it was okay to breathe again, the plane jumped back into the air. Wade's words came back to her: "These Staggerwings are awkward as blind dates." Awkward wasn't the word for what they were doing now. The plane careened like some mad gooney bird as it touched the ground again before finally jolting to a stop. Sommer kept her eyes glued to the oil-pressure gauge, watching as the needle slowly dropped back down. Wade reached out and shut off the engine. "That was one of my best landings!" he congratulated himself. He pulled off his headphones and hung them on the hook above his head. Then he looked at Sommer. There was a long pause. "Sommer..." he coaxed gently. Then she felt him reach across her and unlatch the seat belt. "God, Sommer. I'm sorry. I know you said you didn't fly, but I never thought-" He opened her door, allowing fresh air to rush in. Then she felt his hand loosening her clenched fingers from the edge of the seat. She took a deep, shaky breath and turned toward him. She wanted to tell him just what she thought of his damned plane ride. She wanted to tell him that she would never, under any circumstances, fly again, but the words wouldn't come. 65

The stress of yesterday and today had been culminating in her, waiting for just this moment. Her mouth began to tremble, and soon her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. And then the tears came, torrents of them. They were running down her face, spilling onto her shirt and onto Wade's shirt. His arms were around her, and he was carefully holding her against him. "I told you-" her voice wobbled, then dropped to a thick whisper "-I don't fly." He felt her hand, then her neck. "You're ice-cold. Let's get you to the hospital." She heard him mutter something about shock before she was whisked out of the plane and into a cab, with Wade tucking the quilt around her again. When they arrived at the hospital, she was put on a gurney and wrapped in another blanket. She didn't know if she would ever stop shaking. She felt as if she had no control over herself. Then a nurse put an I. V. in her arm. "Antishock solution," she informed them. Wade's face hovered over Sommer. He winked, but his smile was strained. She smiled back. She was going to tell him to quit looking so worried, that it was only a broken arm, but she was suddenly too tired to speak. "I probably shouldn't have brought her here by plane," Wade was saying to someone in the room. "Oh, I don't know if that's what did it," said an unfamiliar man's voice. "Sometimes a broken bone, even a simple fracture, can be followed by shock. It might have happened anyway, and you wouldn't have gotten here as soon. It's only a mild case. She should be back to normal in a couple of hours. We'll just Xray her arm and get a cast on it. We can give her one of the new fiberglass casts, if you like." Sommer roused herself enough to struggle to a halfsitting position. "No, I want a regular cast...." A fiberglass cast would cost too much. "It's your decision," the young doctor said. "Fiberglass would be a lot more comfortable," Wade told her, pressing her back down against the pillow. She shook her head. "No, I want a plaster cast." Wade looked at the doctor and shrugged. By the time the cast was set, Sommer felt as if she'd participated in a triathlon and had met half the hospital staff. At one point, while waiting for a radiologist to review her Xrays, Sommer had seen Wade writing something on a piece of paper, which he then handed to a young, attractive nurse. From the nurse's expression you'd think she'd just met Mel Gibson. "What did you give her?" Sommer asked suspiciously. 66

"Give who?" "I saw you hand a piece of paper to that nurse." "My autograph, what else?" he said with a wide grin. "Oh, brother! Can't you think of something better than that?" "Jealous?" "Certainly not," she shot back. Two hours later Sommer was exhausted and miserable, but well enough to worry. She had a mental image of her hospital bill, and the figures on it were growing by the second. "I've got to get home." She swung her legs over the side of the gurney, the weight of the cast heavy on her arm. "What time is it?" Wade was sitting on a chair across the room, studying an emergency-room catalog. "Just past three." He flipped to another page. "I have to get home," she insisted through a haze of fatigue. "And I don't know what you find so fascinating about that book." "You're not going anywhere just yet, so settle down." He shut the catalog and tossed it on an end table. "I can't stay here any longer." "Don't worry. I called Paul, and he's coming to get you. But if you're in that big a hurry, I guess we could sedate you and stick you back in my plane." Sommer had visions of herself in an amoebalike state, totally at Wade's mercy. "That doesn't sound-" The door opened and Paul stepped in. "Wow, Sommer-you look terrible," he commented. "See, nothing to worry about," Wade said, getting to his feet. "Paul will take you home." Before she knew what was happening, Wade had walked out the door. "Wade! Wait-" she shouted after him. The door opened, and he stuck his head in, his sunbleached eyebrows lifting in question. "I ... ah..." She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "Thanks." She wanted to tell him more, to say she was sorry about yesterday-that she hadn't meant to fire him. But because she was who she was, the words wouldn't come. "You're welcome." Then he was gone.

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Chapter Seven Sommer opened her eyes to stare lethargically at a crack in the adobe wall of her bedroom. Morning sunlight mocked her spiritless mood as it bounced off the dresser mirror and brass bedposts. She felt hollow and empty. And her set arm ached like crazy. Wade was gone. She rolled onto her side, away from the brightness of the window, pulling the patchwork quilt over her shoulder. Get up, she told herself. Katie would be awake soon, wanting some breakfast. There was work to do: calves to wean, hay to cut and bale.... A feeling of overwhelming despondency flooded her senses, and she fought the temptation to pull the covers over her head and spend the rest of the day wallowing in self-pity. The slamming of the front door barely penetrated the fog of her depression. Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, then her bedroom door came open. It was Wade. Quietly he closed the door, then came to stand beside the bed, his largeness looming over her. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, hardly able to believe he hadn't left. She struggled to a sitting position, the cast on her arm heavy and awkward. She must look awful. Her eyes felt puffy and red, and her hair hadn't been rebraided since yesterday. He's still here. He bent to straighten the pillows behind her back, and as he did, she was acutely aware of the warmth of him, aware of his work-roughened hand as it brushed her back through the cotton of her gown. "Maria's coming soon," she told him. "You don't need to do that." He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. Sommer tugged at the covers, trying to pull them higher than her waist, but they were caught under him. The movement of her arm caused her to wince. "Have you been taking the pain pills Dr. Murray gave you?" "No. They muddle my head. Make a zombie out of me." "You can't rest if your arm hurts, and you can't get well if you don't rest. I should know. Remember, I'm an expert on broken bones." "Wade ...I don't really think you should be in here. What if Katie..." Her words trailed off. Wade was leaning over, pressing a hand against the bed on either side of her, the quilt pulling tightly against her hips. "I figured something out after I left 68

the hospital yesterday." His eyes were dark, as if he hadn't slept much, and his face was unshaven. "You don't have any insurance, do you?" He gave her no chance to answer. "That's why you didn't want the more expensive cast. And why you were so anxious to leave the hospital." His eyes looked almost navy, and she could see the anger and frustration in their depths. She pressed back against the pillows. "I can't afford insurance." The bed lurched as he quickly got up. "Sometimes I just want to shake some sense into you," he said, impatiently raking his fingers through his hair. "I don't know why you're so upset," she said defensively. It was none of his business. He was getting personal again. "You don't need to concern yourself." Something like pain flashed in his face before he turned his back to look out the window. He was quiet for a minute, then he said, "You're a real doorslammer, Sommer McBlain. You know that?" He shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, then turned back around. "Don't you think I've been here long enough to have formed some attachment to all of you? Maybe you don't realize it, but when somebody's around somebody else for a time, that's usually what happens. But obviously it doesn't work both ways." Sommer was staring down at the quilt, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. With a far-removed part of her thoughts she noticed how the flowered pattern repeated itself every inch or so... . He was right. She'd been acting like a spoiled, selfish brat. In her worry over protecting herself and her own feelings she had disregarded his. She had hurt him, she realized with a mixture of astonishment and remorse. It's just that he scares me so much. "I'm sorry," she whispered, not raising her chin. "I'm sorry about what I said the other day." She had told him she didn't want him, which had been a terrible untruth, but Sommer was cautious and could only reveal so much. "I didn't mean what I said about not wanting you to work for me anymore." She swallowed thickly, then blinked her eyes, hoping he wouldn't see the tears clinging to her dark lashes. "Are you going to leave?" she asked hollowly, looking up at him through a blur of tears. His expression had softened. "If I remember right, today's the day I'm supposed to cut hay." The hollow feeling vanished. "You're going to stay and help?" "I'll stay-if you want me to." His hand was poised on the doorknob as he waited for her answer. "It's up to you. Do you want me to stay, Sommer?" The blue eyes that bored into hers held a challenge. She was the first to break eye contact. "Yes." 69

He would never know how much that single syllable cost her. It had been a long, long time since Sommer McBlain had admitted to needing anything from anybody. Wade smiled and left the room. Two days later Sommer was watching from the porch as Maria and Katie took water to the men, who were working at the nearby barn putting up hay bales. Her gaze was drawn away from the gaily clad Maria and the exuberant, skipping form of Katie to focus on Wade. He was standing on the hayrack, legs braced apart, sun pounding down on the rippling muscles of his glistening back. He lifted another hay bale and tossed it onto the narrow conveyor belt that ran to the second story of the barn. There wasn't any part of hay making that was easy, but Wade had taken the hardest job. By the end of the day, after two-thousand bales had changed hands, some men would have collapsed from exhaustion, dehydration and heatstroke. But Wade's sweating form bent and straightened with ease as he rhythmically continued to sling the hundred-pound bales onto the elevator, never faltering, never pausing. Sommer wondered if the men inside stacking the dropping bales were having a hard time keeping up with him. And his day hadn't begun with the small, hand-movable bales. He'd spent the morning making large, six-foot round ones that would later be moved by tractor to a corner of Valle Grande to be fed out through the winter. "Wade!" Katie's shout drifted back to Sommer. "We brought you some water!" Sommer saw a smile flash across his tan face as he looked down at Katie. Then he jumped to the ground, took off his battered hat and swiped at the perspiration trailing down his forehead before slamming the hat back on. Maria and Katie filled the glasses and handed them to the men. At one point Wade looked toward the porch, to where Sommer stood watching from a safe distance, said something, then handed his empty glass back to Maria. Then he was striding in Sommer's direction. "There's probably four more hayrack loads of hay left in the field," he said, looking up at her from ground level, eyes squinted against the bright afternoon sun. "Fine." Sommer's gaze fell to the pieces of hay chaff clinging to his bare chest. She quickly looked away to the pen where Red stood with eyes closed, drowsing in the sun.

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"We should be done in another two hours." He slapped his leather gloves together, still watching her. Memories came to her in a rush, and she unconsciously recalled how his lips had felt against hers, how his bronze skin had felt under her fingertips. Wade's mouth turned up at the corners, and Sommer's intuition told her he was aware of her secret thoughts. Ridiculous! Hot color mounted her cheeks, and his smiled broadened. Then he turned and strode back to the tractor. Two hours later Sommer and Maria were in the kitchen, arguing. "Maria, it's all right. I want you to go." "How can I leave you like this-" Maria waved her hand toward Sommer's cast "-with your arm broken?" Sommer took a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator, then shut the door with her elbow. "It's only a broken arm, not a body cast." "Can I come in, or is this a private argument?" Wade was looking in the screen door, pulling on his chambray work shirt at the same time. Before anyone could answer, he stepped inside, sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned. "Mom wants Maria to go to Mexico." On tiptoe, Katie reached across the counter for the cookie jar, then took it to the table and sat down. Wade held Katie's glass steady while Sommer poured the milk. "No more than four cookies," she warned as Wade put the glass in front of her daughter. "To Mexico?" Wade went to the cupboard and pulled out another glass, then filled it from the jug Sommer had left on the table. "Maria and Manuel always go to Mexico this time of year to visit her sister," Sommer explained. Wade sat down across from Katie and reached for the cookie jar. "We just won't go this time," Maria said as she let the dishwater out of the sink. "Look, Mom. Wade eats the middle of the cookie first. Just like me." "Maria, I can handle it," Sommer argued. "I'm not helpless." "Who's gonna do dishes?" Maria asked. "Katie can." "Who's gonna cook?" "I can manage," Sommer said, but her voice was less than confident. As she reached for a cookie, she had a vision of her cast ending up in a pot of beef stew. Katie was still chattering. "And then he dips the outside in his milk. I've never tried that." The child had a complete file of all the "neat" things Wade did.

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"Maria, we'll manage. I know how much you look forward to this trip, and I don't see any reason why you shouldn't go." "Neither do I." Both women turned to Wade. "You don't?" they asked in unison. "I'll help around here while you and Manuel are gone." Sommer almost choked on her cookie. "Wait a minute-" "Wow! That would be neat!" Katie cheered. "You're volunteering to do dishes and cook?" Sommer asked in disbelief. "Sure. I make a great pot of chili." Sommer looked at Maria for help, but it was no use. The woman was smiling broadly. Why sure! Why wouldn't she smile? She was one of Wade's biggest admirers. "I'll be coming to check and feed the livestock everyday, anyway," he said. "It only makes sense." "It sounds like a good idea to me," Maria said enthusiastically. "Then it's settled." Wade was looking very pleased with himself. "Hold on!" Sommer knew she was outnumbered, and she was beginning to panic. "I was thinking of getting a girl from town to come in." "Who?" Maria folded a blue-checked towel and hung it over the drying rack. "Who you gonna get? Not Sally Ortega. She watching the soap operas and eating all the food in the house." "Can't get her anyway." Wade reached for another cookie. "She's working for Paul." "Oh, great," Sommer moaned. "The bar will be an even worse pigpen." "If she's that bad, you wouldn't want her here, would you?" Wade asked, knowing she had never intended to ask Sally in the first place. "Looks like you're stuck with me." He'd done it to her again. Maneuvered her into a corner. Her nerves were stretched like tight rubber bands whenever he was around. But then, when he wasn't around ... No, she wouldn't think about that. "What do you do with the milk?" Katie was staring into her glass. "You drink it." She looked up at Wade, disgust and disbelief on her face. "After it's full of black, yucky stuff?" "Yep."

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"Things have gone pretty well, don't you think?" Wade asked as they drove through the pasture, checking the cattle. Sommer had to grudgingly agree. And being around Wade hadn't been the strain she had feared it would be. It was hard to feel uncomfortable around someone as natural and open as he was. "You even do a great job on Katie's hair." Sommer looked at the neat, tight braids that ran down either side of her daughter's back. They were tighter and smoother than any Sommer had ever achieved. Wade seemed to be good at everything he did. "They're no problem." Wade slowed the truck to a crawl and waited for an unconcerned cow to amble out of their path. "I've been braiding reins and horse tails since I was a kid." "Do we have to have chili for supper again tonight?" Katie broke in. "I thought you liked my chili." "I do." They hit a bump, and Katie's slight body lifted all the way off the seat. "I mean I did. But we've had it so much...." "Yeah, Super Chef," Sommer said smugly. "I thought you knew how to cook." "I said I could cook chili." "You mean, that's all you can cook?" Katie asked in awe. "Mind-boggling, isn't it?" Sommer said wryly, while mentally noting that there was at least one thing Wade wasn't fantastic at. But then, neither was she. "I can make scrambled eggs and a great peanut-butter sandwich," he said as he turned the truck around to head back to the ranch house. "I like peanut-butter sandwiches." "Thatta girl. But I'll tell you what. I'm getting a little sick of my cooking, too. What do you say, we go somewhere and eat tonight?" "Not the Purple Onion," Katie moaned. "Katie!" "Mom, I hate that stuff Paul fixes." She looked up at Wade. "One time he had these sandwiches, and they had bean sprouts in them." Katie screwed up her face. "They're supposed to be nutritious," Sommer said lamely, mentally agreeing with her daughter's opinion of Paul's exotic menu. "I was thinking of the Coachhouse," Wade suggested.

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"Oh, I don't know...." Sommer felt skeptical. It wasn't a real fancy restaurant, but it was fancy enough. And to actually go out to eat with Wade ... Well, it seemed a little too much like a date. Of course, Katie would be along.... "I've never been there," Katie said. "Then let's go. How about it?" Wade looked at Sommer across the top of Katie's dark head. She finally relented. "Okay, but only if I pick up the check."

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Chapter Eight Wade's fingers didn't want to obey him as he fought to bring his tie under control. "Oh, hell," he muttered, jerking the tie off an flossing it on the dresser. He was wearing a white oxford shirt and denim jeans. The jeans weren't new, but at least they didn't have holes in them. He bent at the knees to look at his reflection in the dresser mirror. His sun-streaked hair lay perfectly for once, except for a lock that kept falling over his forehead, and there was a nick on his chin where he'd cut himself shaving. He straightened up, automatically reaching for his battered hat, then remembered he wouldn't be needing it. He knew tonight galled Sommer. It was just too much like a date. She'd never mentioned what had passed between them that day at the spring-fed pool, and neither had he. He was a firm believer in letting sleeping dogs lie. And now that he'd had time to cool off, and his anger and hurt over her harsh words had dulled, he could see that the whole thing had been his fault. He'd come on to her too fast and spooked her. He'd have to be careful, because now she was more skittish than ever. And there was so much at stake... If someone was to ask him to describe what he felt for Sommer, he'd have a hard time putting it into words. Oh, he'd had the feeling before. When he'd seen a desert sunrise or heard church bells ringing through the morning fog. It was something that tore at his heart, something that was beautiful and fleeting and impossible to hold on to.... Fifteen minutes later he pulled up in front of her house and stepped from the truck, the evening sunlight bathing everything in an orange glow, like an old photograph. The air was still warm, but it held a hint of the coolness that always came with dusk, no matter how hot the day had been. When the door opened, his heart gave a lurch. There stood Sommer, her dark, shining hair loose. She'd been wearing it down a lot lately, and he figured she couldn't braid it with her arm in a cast. Once he'd almost offered to do it for her, then caught himself. Her smooth complexion was free of the stuff women put on their faces, except for maybe a touch of color on her mouth. Her dress was old-fashioned looking and cream-colored. The sleeves were puffy. The top part fitted around her small waist and flat stomach and was fastened with what looked to Wade like a million buttons. The skirt began at her hips and ended with a large ruffle that just touched her calves. 75

Her legs were bare, and she wore cloth sandals that tied in a bow above her ankles. His gaze went back to her face ... to her lips.... He could almost feel the softness of that mouth against his own.... Wade didn't know he was staring until she gave a soft, "ahem" and shifted nervously. "The cast makes a nice accessory, don't you think?" she asked, selfconsciously moving her arm. "I didn't even notice it." His voice sounded strained even to his own ears. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. He'd sworn to keep his distance, but tonight might prove a little tougher than he'd anticipated. Good thing Katie was coming along. The child appeared beside her mother, wearing a print dress with a ruffled smock. As Wade looked at the two of them, he thought how beautiful they were, like a mother and daughter oil painting, and his heart swelled with what he alarmingly recognized as pride. Put on the brakes, he warned himself, knowing at the same time that it was futile to try to stop. He was already embroiled in their lives about as much as a man could be. Because he loved them. And he didn't know what he was going to do about it. "I'm a lucky guy to be taking out the two prettiest gals in Sandoval County." Katie giggled while Sommer blushed. "You like my dress?" Katie asked, pivoting on one patent-leather heel. "Maria made it for me last Christmas." "It's the prettiest one I've ever seen." With an exaggerated motion he stuck out his elbow, and Katie latched onto it immediately. Then he crooked his other arm in Sommer's direction, and after a brief hesitation, she smiled and looped her hand through. One hour and one flat tire later, they were pulling into the Coachhouse parking lot. Wade shut off the engine and headlights. "Sorry about the flat." "I can't believe your spare was no good," Sommer said. "Even I carry a decent spare." After all the nagging he'd done about her worn-out, dangerous Jeep, she wasn't going to let him forget this. "Just a mild oversight," he assured her. "The spare looked okay." He stepped from the truck, then lifted Katie to the ground. "I just hope you take better care of your plane's landing gear," Sommer said, coming around the front of the truck. 76

Having that flat had been damaging to his male ego. Shoot, he'd never had to worry about trivial things like inflated tires. The worst part of the whole episode, the part that really got to him, was that Sommer had ended up showing him how to put the jack together, while Katie stood staring at him as if he'd just shed his skin and become an alien. That was humiliation in its purest form. He held the restaurant door open for them. Of course Sommer had undoubtedly had lots of practice when it came to flats. She probably took one of her bald tires in to be patched regularly, like a weekly trip to the grocery store, while he, on the other hand, hadn't changed a tire since he'd started rodeoing. That was another thing that had been bothering him lately. Time was running out. Even though the National Finals weren't until December, he had to compete in at least thirty rodeos beforehand in order to accumulate enough points to qualify for the Finals. That meant he would have to be leaving soon. But before he left, he planned to tell Sommer who he was, tell her he'd be back. "This sure is a pretty place," Katie said after they stepped inside. Her eyes were huge as she looked around. "Look, Mom. Red tablecloths on all the tables. And candles. This sure is neat. It's kinda like being in a cave." "Why's it so dark in here?" she asked after the hostess had seated them. Sommer leaned closer. "Katie, please talk more quietly." "It's supposed to be romantic," Wade informed her. "Oh, Look. Somebody didn't set this right. They gave me two forks. Isn't that silly! And what are these scarves for?" "Those aren't scarves," Sommer whispered in horror. "They're cloth napkins. Get it off your head!" "Weird." Sommer looked across the table. Wade wasn't being any help at all. His face was hidden deep in the menu, and his shoulders were shaking. "Let's just decide on what we want," Sommer suggested, hoping to direct her daughter's attention elsewhere. Katie opened her menu and began to read it out loud. "Today's-what's that word?" she asked, pointing. "Special." "Today's special-what's that word?" "Chili," Wade supplied. Katie stared at the menu in disbelief, then looked at her mother. "You mean, we drove all this way and have to sit in the dark and use funny napkins, just to eat chili?" She shifted her gaze to look accusingly at Wade, but he was hiding behind his menu again. 77

"Honey, that's the special," Sommer explained. "You don't have to order it. You can get anything else on the menu." "Oh. Okay. Then I want a hamburger." Wade had been humming a tune under his breath, something vaguely familiar.... Then Sommer recognized it. The "Ballad of the Beverly Hillbillies." She kicked at him under the table, but her foot didn't connect nearly hard enough. If she'd only been wearing boots.... He stopped humming to look over the top of his menu at Katie. "I can't wait to take you to Albuquerque. They have tall buildings and lots of bright lights...." "I've been to Albuquerque," Katie said with a giggle. "Lots of times." "I'll bet you've never been to a place called a movie theater," he said with an exaggerated southern drawl. "You're teasing!" "She's been to several- movies," Sommer said defensively. "Is it some sort of crime to never eat out?" "The last movie we saw was Snow White," Katie told him. "Snow White, hmm? Isn't that the one where the wicked queen poisons Snow White with an apple?" "Yeah. It was sad when Snow White fell asleep for a long time. But Mom said she got what she deserved. She shouldn't have trusted a stranger." Wade glanced across the table at Sommer, then back to Katie. "But the prince was kind of a stranger-at first. And didn't he wake her with a kiss? And they lived happily ever after?" "Are you ready to order?" interrupted the waitress, pen poised. Thankfully the meal went smoothly-until it was time to pay. Sommer tried to get the check, but it was useless unless she wanted to fight over it and cause more of a scene than they already had. "Tomorrow's Sunday," Wade said as they drove home. "What do you say we try something a little more civilized?" "More civilized? What could be more civilized than eating in a place with cloth napkins and candles?" Sommer asked. "I was thinking along the lines of a picnic." "A picnic-and fishing!" Katie shouted, bouncing up and down on the seat. "Fishing?" Wade asked skeptically. "Yeah, I love to fish." "You take her fishing?" He looked over Katie's head at Sommer.

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"No." She smiled and shook her head. "My father did. I'm an awful fisherman. I like it best when there's no bait on the hook, and I can just lie back and daydream." "I think I could handle that," Wade commented. "That's not how you fish!" Katie told him. "Haven't you ever been fishing?" He hemmed and hawed. "Yeah. Sure. It's just been a long time, that's all." "Grandpa's poles are in the barn. They have reels on them ...an' there's a tackle box full of bobbers an' sinkers and a bunch of neat stuff. Can we go, please?" Her pleading eyes moved from Wade to her mother. Sommer hesitated. "I don't know..." She was afraid Katie was getting too attached to Wade. And with him leaving soon... "It shouldn't be too tough to get the hang of," Wade said. "What do you use for bait? Rubber frogs?" "No! You gotta have worms." Katie spoke the word with reverence. "Worms?" Wade sounded leery. "How do we get worms around here?" "They sell them at the gas station in Sulfur Springs. Mike-he owns the station-he has a worm farm. An' he grows worms." "A worm farm? You don't say. Sounds like an industrious fellow." "Yeah, an' he has this machine called a Vend-aBait. It's real neat. You'll see. You put in five quarters an' push a red button an' this cup full of worms rolls out, just like a pop machine." "This," Wade stated, "I've got to see."

"Let's compare," Sommer said as she tossed her line into the water. "I'll use cheese for bait, you two use the worms." Katie had protested that cheese wouldn't catch anything. Sommer hoped she was right. The pamphlet she had dug out of the cluttered drawer stated that Silver Lake was well stocked with bass, carp and catfish, and Sommer didn't want to have to worry about catching any of them. She had even opted for a bamboo pole, complete with cork bobber so she wouldn't have to fuss with casting and reeling in. No, she was planning on doing some serious relaxing.... "Are you sure about breaking the worm in two?" Wade couldn't quite keep the revulsion from his face. "Grandpa always did. If you don't, the fish bites the worm instead of the hook," Katie explained patiently.

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"Just seems a little heartless to me," he muttered as he put half a worm on Katie's hook. Then Wade baited his own hook and moved near the bank to take what was probably supposed to be a casting stance, but looked suspiciously like the way he stood when he was tossing a lariat. His elbow came back, then with a graceful flick of the wrist he brought his arm and the pole straight out from his body. The hook, worm and sinker fell with a "thunk" at his booted feet. "You have to let go of the button," Katie said. In one dexterous movement she cast her line halfway across the small mountain lake. "I don't believe it," Sommer said, looking up from where she lay sprawled on the blanket. "What?" Wade was reeling his line back up. "We've found something you're not fantastic at." "Don't worry. I'll get the hang of it." Warm, bittersweet affection stirred in her as she watched his face. With all the intentness of a child, he tried again. This time his line went almost as far as Katie's. He turned and gave Sommer a devastating smile that stirred those everwaiting butterflies. And his smile wasn't all she found devastating. He was wearing a T-shirt the color of his eyes, and as he moved the shirt pulled tightly across his chest and biceps. She knew rodeo riders had to be in top physical condition, and he was living proof... She watched him through half-closed eyes. A drifter... It was hard for her to think of him that way anymore. He seemed so settled, so content with the everyday things in life-traditional. He didn't seem like someone who couldn't stand to be in one place very long, who would never want to put down roots. But that's exactly the kind of person he was. She didn't want to think about it, but in a short time he would be gone. And she would miss him. So very, very much. "Mom! You got a bite! Hurry!" With a jolt Sommer looked to where she had last seen the cork bobber. It was gone. With a shriek she scrambled to her feet, grabbed the pole and tugged. The old bamboo bent and creaked before Sommer managed to drag a flopping fish to the bank. "Now what do I do?" Katie bent over the fish for a close inspection. "Wow! Grandpa never caught one that big! Did you see the pole bend? It was just like something on Fish America!" "How do we get the hook out?" Sommer looked up at Wade for guidance. "We? How do we get the hook out?" "Yeah, I thought you'd do it. And why is it making that face? Like it's in pain?" 80

"Fish always make that face. I think..." "I thought you said you'd been fishing before," Sommer accused. "I have, but I never caught anything." "Oh, brother." While the adults were arguing, Katie opened the tackle box and took out a pair of pliers. "Grandpa always used these." She handed them to Wade, a confident, expectant look on her face. "The kid's a genius," Wade commented, looking at Sommer. Then his gaze dropped back down to the fish. "Maybe we should give him local anesthetic or something." Sommer frowned. "Ahem. Yes." Wade flexed his fingers around the pliers. "Ugh!" Katie commented at the grisly sound that was made when Wade removed the hook. "Operation successful, and the patient is doing fine," he announced. He put the fish in a basket, which Katie lowered into the water. "Cheese versus worms, one to nothing," Sommer said as she put more cheese on her hook. "You were just lucky," Wade told her as he sprawled out on the ground. "You got a dumb fish. Did you see his eyes? They were on the side of his head. How could he see what he was biting? An intelligent fish, a fish who is a connoisseur of bait, will always choose worms from Mike's Worm Farm." Sommer and Katie looked at each other and laughed. "It's the dirt, you know," Wade confided, leaning back on one elbow, knee bent. "It makes the worm sweeter." "Is that true, Mom?" Katie was sitting in front of her pole, legs crossed, eyes glued to the red-and-white bobber in the water. "Well ..." "There's only one way to know for sure," Wade said. "Try one." "Yuck!" Two pairs of eyes, one set green, the other black, looked at him in disgust. "Eight to nothing," Sommer announced two hours later as Wade removed another hook from yet another fish. Even though Katie and Wade had both switched to cheese, Sommer was the only one catching anything. "I'm getting tired of this," Katie complained. "Can we do something else?" She had quit watching her bobber a long time ago. Now she was lying on her stomach, watching ants. 81

"But, Katie, we're having such good luck," Sommer said, tossing her line back in the water. She had barely stopped long enough to eat any of the picnic lunch, she'd been so anxious to get back to her fishing. "There you go again, with that 'we' stuff," Wade said. "Speak for yourself. To tell the truth, I've about had it with fishing for the day." He got up from where he'd been lounging, picked up his pole and started reeling in the line. "What a couple of poor sports." Sommer laughed as she took her own line out of the water. It didn't take long to pack up the poles and the fishing tackle. "What about the fish?" Katie asked. "We almost forgot them." "That's your mother's department." Wade handed Sommer one end of the blanket, and they started folding it. "She caught 'em, she cleans 'em." "You're kidding! I can't clean them with a cast on." They brought both ends of the blanket together. Lazy heat ran through her as their fingers touched, and disturbing blue eyes locked with hers. Wade tugged the blanket from her grasp. "They're easy to clean," Katie said. "I watched Grandpa do it lots of times." "Watching and doing are two completely different things," Sommer told her, pulling her gaze away from Wade's. "All you have to do is chop their head off with a big sharp knife." "Katie!" She couldn't believe her child had just spoken so calmly. That sweet face, that sweet mouth saying those awful words! "You know, fishing is a disgusting sport," Sommer decided. "Okay, okay." Wade laughed. "I'll clean the fish." Just then, a dark green truck with a New Mexico state emblem on the door pulled to a stop near Wade's truck. The man who stepped out wore an officiallooking patch on his tan shirt that, on closer inspection, said, "Fish and Game Warden." "Uh-oh," Wade said under his breath. "I have a bad feeling about this." "Just stopped to check your fishing permits," the man said. Wade looked accusingly at Katie. "Permits?" She shrugged her shoulders. Then Wade looked at Sommer. "You never said anything about a permit." "Grandpa never had one," Katie said. "He was probably over sixty-five," the game warden told them. "If you're under twelve, or over sixtyfive, you don't need one." He took out a green tablet and started writing. "You're not gonna put Mom and Wade in jail, are you?" Katie wailed. "No," the man assured her. "But they'll have to pay a fine." 82

"A fine?" Sommer moaned. "Fifty dollars a person. Sorry." He tore off two sheets of paper and handed them to Wade. "Send the money to the address on the bottom there." "What about all the fish Mom caught?" "They'll have to be released. Let's take a look at what you got." He tucked the tablet under his arm and followed Katie down the bank where he helped her lift up the basket. "Nice catch," he said, admiring the fish. "Couple carp, few bass. What'd you use for bait?" "Cheese," Wade, Sommer and Katie said gloomily. "Cheese, huh? You don't say. Know what I find works real good?" All three shook their heads. "Worms. Can't beat worms. I usually pick 'em up at a little gas station in Sulfur Springs. Place called Mike's. Hey, you wanna buy a couple permits? I sell 'em" Wade and Sommer shook their heads. "Maybe another time." "Well, you can always pick 'em up at Mike's-same place they sell the worms."

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Chapter Nine Sommer closed the budget book and rubbed her tired eyes. It was late, and the house was quiet. Earlier, Katie had coaxed Wade into playing his harmonica, and the haunting notes had seemed to be a reflection of his mood. He had been so quiet all evening. Quiet, and if she didn't know better, depressed. In all the time she had known him, she'd never seen him depressed or moody, and it worried her. She turned off the desk light, then went to look in on Katie. Her bed was still empty. Puzzled, Sommer walked down the tiled hall to the den. They were both on the couch asleep. Katie was curled up next to Wade, his arm around her, her head against his chest. Sommer felt a pang as she looked at the two of them. So like father and daughter. Had she made a mistake, after all? Maybe she shouldn't have let this man into her life, because it wasn't just her life, it was Katie's life, too. She bent over and slipped the storybook from Wade's relaxed fingers. He had beautiful hands-like an artist's. She looked at the book: Sleeping Beauty. One of the many fairy tales Katie had suddenly taken great interest in. With a sigh, she put it on the coffee table, and when she looked back up, Wade was staring at her. He gave her a half smile, but his eyes were sad and haunted. She felt a pull, and it came from Wade. She felt a sadness, and it also came from Wade. She felt a yearning, and something more... a warmth.... It wrapped itself around her like a down quilt on a cold winter night. She must be more tired than she thought. But after mentally shaking herself, she found that Wade was still looking at her with those deeply sad eyes. "I love you." Stunned, her breath caught in her throat. The quietly spoken words hung between them like remnants of an almost remembered dream. Had he said them at all, or was it just the echoing in her mind? A subconscious yearning? Or had it only been the erratic pounding of her heart? Had he spoken at all? He was watching her, chin resting on Katie's dark head. In the quiet room she could hear their breathing. Katie's, peaceful and gentle, Wades, steady, and her own, battling the racing of her heart. She ran a tongue over dry lips and straightened, breaking eye contact. "Come on, little Katie," Wade whispered. He moved off the couch, then bent to pick her up. "Out like a light," he said, looking down at the sleeping child. 84

She followed them down the hallway and watched from the bedroom door as he put Katie into her small bed. Sommer's mind raced, repeating the words she thought he had said. And what if he had? What then? Oh, Lord, what then? When he came out of Katie's room, she took a step back. He stopped in front of her, reaching up to lightly touch the side of her face. "Good night, Sommer," he said in a low voice. "Go on to bed." His hand lingered, then dropped. "I'll shut the lights off on my way out." Light from the kitchen pierced the narrow hall, and this time there was no mistaking the sadness in his blue eyes. She'd accused him of being a clown. Was she now seeing the bare soul under the greasepaint? He turned and walked away. The stunned, leaden feeling left her, and she hurried after him. "Wade, wait" She couldn't let him leave like this. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Was he leaving for good? Was that it? Was this his way of telling her goodbye? Hand poised on the door handle, he looked back. "Why don't you stay awhile?" Her mind was racing. "I'll... I'll make some coffee. We can sit on the porch...." He couldn't just leave like this. He couldn't. His smile was heartbreaking. "Sommer, you make the most god-awful coffee I've ever tasted." "Okay. Forget the coffee. Let's just sit outside for a little bit." At first he didn't answer, just stared out the screen door. Then he nodded and they stepped onto the porch. "We got a letter from Manuel and Maria today," Sommer told him as she sat down on the swing. Light from the kitchen threw a stark, rectangular pattern on the wooden floor. "They should be back any day now. I don't know what we would have done without you." She looked down at her cast. Two nights ago Wade had said it looked like a Popeye muscle. Then he'd talked Katie into getting her magic markers so he could draw a big sailor's anchor on the cast. It had been a warm time, a fun time. While he drew, he had steadied Sommer's arm against his leg, his face intent, his sun-streaked hair only inches away. She had wanted to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under her fingers, test the softness of his hair.... After he'd finished the picture, they had all laughed together. And now, now he was so sad. "I suppose you'll be glad when things get back to normal." He was standing at the top of the steps, left hand gripping the porch column, back to her. "Things are never 'normal' around here." She wished he would turn around so she could see his face, read his expression. 85

He shifted slightly so his back was against the post, his profile toward her. "You know what really gets me?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "The fact that you and I have never really talked. Time's gone by, and we've been together, but we've never really said anything important." He let out a deep sigh and looked up at the stars. Then he looked directly at her. "So, just for the record, Sommer-I love you." Incredible joy surged through her, to be quickly followed by worries and doubts. What was he saying? That he wanted to stay? To settle down? Then she became aware of the distress that had lurked behind his words. Something was wrong. "You go along, thinking you've got everything under control, but you never know...." He uncrossed his arms. "Things can change so fast, and suddenly you realize that time is ticking away." He walked down the steps. "Wade! Wait! Don't go-" He stopped, but his back was still to her. "Good night, Sommer." Then he started walking again. Alarmed, she hurried after him. "Wade!" Reaching out, she grabbed his arm. A useless gesture, like an ant trying to hold back a lion. But Wade was a gentleman-a gentle man, she corrected-and he stopped. "You can't leave like this." She pushed at his arm, trying to turn him around toward her. "Something's happened, hasn't it? What is it? Tell me-please." She felt his arm muscles tense then shudder under her fingertips. When he turned to face her, light from the kitchen cast deep shadows under his eyes, around his mouth. "Wade?" He drew a deep, ragged breath, then looked away toward the corral. "A friend of mine was killed yesterday." His voice was thick. Sommer stood there, too stunned to move. She felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. "Wade... I'm so sorry..." She felt tears sting her eyes. He'd known all evening. Why hadn't he said something? Shared his grief? "I wish you'd told me earlier-" "I thought about telling you, but it seemed too... personal. We've never talked personal." Those words cut her deeply. What a cold, heartless person she must seem to him at times. Always wrapped, up in her own defensive maneuvers. He took a step away from her. "His name was Steve Chaney. One of the best rodeo clowns in the business. He was drawing a bull's attention away from a downed rider-" Wade swallowed hard "-and somehow slipped and was gored. 86

God! When I think of all the lives he's saved. Including mine-" His voice broke off. With quick strides he closed the gap between himself and the truck with Sommer following. "Wade, don't go. Not like this." He banged his fist on the truck hood. "I'd been looking forward to seeing him." He glanced up at the sky. "Now I'm leaving for his funeral tomorrow." He turned back to her. "I hate to do that to you, when I said I'd stay, but-" "It's okay." Sommer was standing very near, wondering what she could say to offer him some measure of comfort. Nothing. There were no words that could lessen his grief. And it touched her deeply to know that even now he thought about them. She couldn't help herself-she reached up to wipe the tears from his face with her fingers. First one stubbled cheek, then the other. "We'll get along," she assured him. "I've pretty much mastered driving with this cast on. Don't worry about us." She wanted to hold him, soothe him. He looked down at her, and a ghost of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, the wistful smile contrasting with the dampness on his cheeks. "Don't worry about you? Try telling me not to breathe." His words reminded her of what he'd said earlier. He'd told her he loved her. Loved her, Sommer McBlain. "Don't let Katie put a cup of sugar on her cereal," he warned. "And remind her to stay away from the bull that's penned in the south lot. He's got a sore foot, and it's making him mean." "I'll tell her." What would he do when he got back to the Purple Onion? Alone in his room with only his thoughts? "I hate to think of you being alone." "Ah, Sommer-" his voice was a regretful sigh "-don't go getting compassionate on me. I won't know how to act." She moved closer, and his strong arms reached for her, wrapped around her, and she was pulled up against his solid, comfortable chest. With a shuddering sigh he buried his face in her loose hair and held her tightly for what seemed a very long time to Sommer, but not nearly long enough. Then his hand found her chin, and he tipped her face up to meet his slow, tender kiss. His lips were soft and so sadly gentle. The kiss wasn't like the other times. It didn't rock her with hot, mind-confusing sensuality. This kiss was different, but oh, no less moving. This time it was like coming home.

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She felt the roughness of his stubbled chin, tasted the salt of his tears, and she felt humbled by this man. This man who was a mixture of contrasts. Who could be nutty, yet serious. Tough, yet so very gentle. And kind, always kind... "I have to go." His lips left her, but she clung to him with her good hand, feeling the corded muscles of his arm beneath her fingers. "Stay." The word seemed to hang in the night air. "Sommer, I think you're going soft in the head." "You can sleep on the couch. I just don't like to think of you being alone." "No, I have to go. I've lived around here long enough to know that gossip is the favorite pastime of most of the locals." "Do you think I care what they say about me? I'm worried about you being by yourself." "I care. I care what they say about you." She suddenly had a terrible feeling, a premonition that this was it, this was goodbye. She would never see him again. He was going to walk out of her life the way he had walked in-with no warning. "You'll be back?" "I'll be back." Then he bent his head and kissed her again. And this time his kiss was like a sweet, sweet promise.

For four days she lived with the gnawing fear that she would never see him again. But now, now he was back. Feeling suddenly shy and nervous, she stood on the porch and watched as Wade picked up Katie and swung her around,, then set her back on the ground. "Did you miss me?" he asked. He wasn't looking at Katie, he was looking over her head at Sommer. "Yeah! An' Maria says Mom's been mopey." "Ah, that's the kind of thing I like to hear." Slowly Sommer walked down the steps, stopping at the bottom. But Wade was back in his old form. Never hesitating, he swooped down on her and swung her around, just as he'd swung Katie seconds earlier. Then he put her down and kissed her soundly on the mouth. "Wade-" Sommer protested halfheartedly, glancing in Katie's direction. She pushed at his chest, but he refused to loosen his hold. "You don't mind if I kiss your mother, do you, Katie?" Katie giggled and shook her head. Just then a scratching sound came from Wade's truck. "What's that?" Katie asked. 88

"I almost forgot-in all the excitement." He smiled down at Sommer, then released her and walked over to open the truck door. "A puppy!" Katie shrieked, catching the excited ball of fur that tumbled from Wade's truck. "Her name's Elsie. She's out of a dog of Steve's. The mother is one of the best cattle dogs I've ever seen." He was watching Sommer for a reaction. "You don't mind, do you? She's already housebroken. And you only have to tell her something once, and she's learned it." "Look at her eyes, Mom." Katie carried the puppy over to Sommer. "She has one blue eye and one brown. Just like Tucker had." "Australian shepherd?" Sommer asked, reaching out to pet the puppy's gray, speckled head. "Yeah." Sommer had promised herself she would never have another dog. Because a dog's lifespan was so much shorter than a human's. "She's a sweetheart." The puppy stared up at her with sober, intelligent eyes. Sommer had an awfully soft spot for puppies, for babies of all kinds. "She's yours if you want her." Wade was watching her intently, waiting. "Can we keep her, Mom?" "I don't see why not." After all, she couldn't spend the rest of her life avoiding heartaches. "It's about time we had another dog around here." "Oh, boy!" Katie put the puppy down. "Come on, Elsie!" She ran toward the barn, the furry bundle following at her heels. Wade took the opportunity to pull Sommer back into his arms. His mouth came down to hers, and he kissed her long and lingeringly. "Did you miss me?" he asked. "Yes." "You're stingy with your emotions, Sommer McBlain. But I'll make up for your share. I missed you every second I was gone." Then his face became deadly serious. "Sommer, we have to talk." He was still holding her in the circle of his arms. "I have something I have to say to you." He was going to ask her to marry him. She was almost sure of it. While he'd been gone, when she'd feared he might not come back, that she might never see him again, she had decided that if he did return, and if he asked her to marry him, her answer would be yes. She knew he was a drifter, someone with no roots, but she would share hers. She loved him. Loved what he was inside. In the time he had been with them she had come to trust him, something she hadn't been able to do for years-trust. 89

He let go of her and turned to lean his elbows on the truck hood, as if he suddenly couldn't look at her. "This is hard for me to say... I know you're going to be mad as hell at me. I have to leave again-and this time I'll be gone for three months." She felt as if he'd doused her with a bucket of ice water. "What are you talking about?" "I have to rodeo for the next three months-to catch up on points for the Finals. But after December I'll be done with it." "I...I don't understand. I thought you quit the rodeo." "No, I didn't quit. I was just taking a break. You see, I can't quit. I have a contract." "A contract? I don't understand." He looked her straight in the eye, and for some reason he made her think of somebody facing a firing squad. "What you don't understand is that I've been the national all-around cowboy for the last two years." "All-around cowboy?" Sommer didn't follow the sport of rodeo, but she was familiar enough with it to know what he was talking about. She was just having a hard time grasping it. "You lied to me?" "Not lied. I just didn't fill in all the blanks, that's all." "Why?" Her blood had turned to ice water, the feelings she had for him froze. It was almost as bad as the time she'd discovered that Tom had left her. Almost, but not quite. Because this was Wade. Wade. "It's hard to explain why I did it. I just wanted to be a normal, regular person, to be liked for what was here-" He pointed to his chest. "How could you do such a thing? I trusted you! Trusted you!" "How was I to know I'd fall in love with my boss?" he asked desperately. "You're lying. If you cared about me, if you loved me, you wouldn't be leaving now." She turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "Sommer, I want to stay here more than anything. But this is something I have to finish first. I not only want to stay here-Sommer, turn around-" He reached out and turned her by the shoulders. "I want to be a husband to you and a father to Katie." She wanted to believe him. But how could she? She had trusted him, and he had lied to her. She wouldn't be used like this, made a fool of like this.... "You don't think I'm coming back, do you? That's it, isn't it? You think this has just been a vacation for me. A page out of my diary."

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She jerked away. They were too old to be playing this ridiculous game. "Please... just leave..." she said in a broken voice as she hurried toward the house. "What do I have to do to prove myself?" Wade asked after her. "You won't be satisfied until I cut my damn heart out and give it to you on a platter! Well, I'm coming back! And if my word isn't good enough, then you'll damn well just have to wait and see, won't you?" He almost jerked the door off the truck when he opened it. Sommer was already in the safety of the house when she heard the truck roaring across the bridge and down the hill.

The next morning Sommer stood staring at the stone that marked her father's grave. Dry wind pushed a tumbleweed along the ground until it became wedged in the gray picket fence surrounding the small hilltop cemetery. It was a desolate spot for a final resting place, she thought, looking at the bare, red clay ground, adorned only by a tuft or two of desert grass, a few prickly-pear cactus and some faded plastic flowers. "Daddy," Sommer said aloud in a choked voice, "why does everything have to be so hard? Why can't things be black-and-white? Why is there so much gray?" Wade had promised to come back, but could she believe him? God! She wanted to, but a cautious corner of her mind hung back, taunted her. She couldn't open herself up to that kind of pain. Of waiting and waiting for something that would never happen, for someone who wasn't coming back. It was too cruel. Why did life give with one hand and take with the other? She had her Katie. Katie made a warm spot in her heart. And the lasting friendship of Manuel, Maria and Paul. That was a lot. More than many people have. Maybe she was selfish. Maybe she expected too much. She stuck her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders against the wind that whipped her hair about her face. The days were already getting shorter; Katie would be going to back to school in a couple of weeks. Time marched on.... "Sommer," came a low voice from behind her. She turned to see Wade standing a short distance away. His clean-shaven face was pale against his dark rimmed eyes. The wind tossed his hair and made rippling waves in his shirt. 91

"I saw your Jeep from the highway... and stopped to talk to you before I leave." He paused, then made a frustrated gesture with one hand. "Maybe you won't believe this, but I never wanted to hurt you, ever. All I ever wanted to do was see you happy. Maybe I'm being a fool, thinking I might be the one to pull it off," he said, stepping closer. He was quiet for a minute, then he looked at Sommer. "I am coming back. That's all I can say. The rest is up to you." She turned away from him to look out over the expanse of desert and red clay, trying to focus on something that was solid, something that didn't hurt. She thought about how the Indians used the clay for pottery. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she caught it between her teeth. "Dammit, Sommer!" he said in frustration. "Give me a little feedback here before I leave. So I know where I stand. Do you want me to come back?" She batted her eyes quickly, clearing her vision. Then she turned and looked up at him. "Yes." "Eloquent. That's what I love about you, you're so eloquent." He closed the space between them and pulled her into his arms. "Come to Nevada with me. Maria could take care of Katie. And Manuel… " His words faded, then stopped altogether as he realized how impossible it would be. Sommer was slowly shaking her head. "Do you believe me? That I'll be back?" "I want to believe you." She looked up, being careful to memorize everything about him. The deep blue of his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners when he laughed. The way he smelled-like soap and fresh air, and sometimes hay and horses.... Then she thought about where he was going, what he was going to do. A rodeo rider. Her heart twisted. It was cruel! Cruel for him to be doing this to her. He could be thrown from a raging bull. Heaven help her, he could be killed! "I have to go. I love you, Sommer McBlain." He brought his head down and kissed her sad mouth with aching thoroughness before releasing her. "I'm leaving my truck at the landing strip. Paul's going to pick it up later. Go ahead and use it whenever you need to. And don't forget your appointment next month to have your cast taken off." He took a few steps away, then looked back. "Goodbye." Then he turned and started walking down the sparse, clay hill to where his truck stood parked at the bottom. "Wade-" He stopped and looked up at her expectantly. 92

Tell him you love him, a voice in her head whispered. Tell him you love him. "Be careful." He smiled. "Careful's my middle name. Oh, I left something in your Jeep. Something for your hope chest." Then he turned and disappeared down the hill. She heard the truck door slam, heard the engine start, heard the tires crunch on the gravel before they touched the blacktopped highway. And finally she could hear nothing but the wind rustling through the dry, dead grass around her. When she got to the Jeep, she found a quilt lying on the passenger seat. It was the one from the horse auction. Hettie's quilt. The one Wade had covered her with when she broke her arm. She picked it up and traced her fingers over the tiny, white, perfect stitches. Then she put one edge of the cool cotton fabric against the side of her face and began to cry.

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Chapter Ten Three months. Wade had been gone three months. Time and distance had lent an unreality to his ever having been with them at all. But the familiar longing Sommer felt whenever her thoughts turned to him was very real. Wade hadn't completely vanished from their lives. They had received postcards from all over the U.S.from as far north as Sweet Grass, Montana, and as far south as Laredo, Texas. And he had called twice. His voice had held a weariness, a weariness Sommer wished she could soothe away. He had asked questions about them all and about the ranch, and both times he had ended the conversation by telling Sommer he missed her. But she couldn't commit herself to voicing her own feelings. Her heart spoke words of love, but the cautious part of her hung back, warning that she could be letting herself in for more pain if she opened up to him completely. After all, he had the world at his feet, how could she possibly believe he would come back to her? Whenever her thoughts turned in such a direction, she would feel a dread in her soul like a deep wound. Two weeks passed when she heard nothing from him. And Sommer told herself that it had happened, he had forgotten her. Then they received a postcard from Las Vegas, complete with a picture of a bucking Brahman bull, telling them to be sure and watch the National Finals Rodeo on television. And even though she told herself she just might be too busy, she knew that come the first night of the rodeo, she would be glued to the television set.

"Popcorn! How can you think of eating popcorn at a time like this?" Sommer asked in amazement, sitting on the couch in front of the television, her stomach in knots. "I'm always eatin' the popcorn and drinkin' the Pepsi when I'm watchin' the rodeo," Manuel explained. "Has the bareback riding started yet?" Maria shouted from the kitchen. "No, they're advertising those belt buckles again." Katie was lying on the floor on her stomach, knees bent, cowboy boots in the air, chin in her hands. Carrying a huge bowl of popcorn, Maria hurried back to the den and squeezed in between Sommer and Manuel on the couch. "We're comin' to you live from Las Vegas," stated the announcer, with a heavy southern drawl. "The first event will be bareback riding, and our first 94

contestant is Andy Chapman. Hails from Mangum, Oklahoma. Now this is Andy's first National Final, so let's root him on, okay?" The camera was unmerciful, zooming in to expose the naked fear in the cowboy's youthful face-a face that looked barely old enough to shave-and the nervousness in his suddenly clumsy hands. "For those of you folks out there who've never seen a rodeo," the announcer said, "I want you to know that these cowboys aren't performers, they're athletes. An' rodeo athletes are in better condition and face more danger than any other athlete in the world. It takes nerves of steel to do what they do. Tough, grade A, U.S. steel." The announcer's voice became more confiding. "Now, as soon as the chute opens and the bronc's feet hit the ground, the cowboy's gotta have both spurs to the bronc's shoulders, else it's a 'no-score.' And that's not all. Then he's gotta stay on for eight seconds, and lemme tell ya, those eight seconds can seem like eight weeks when you're being pounded senseless. Looks like our boy's about ready-" The cowboy nodded, and the gate to the chute swung wide. After three seconds he was tossed face-down in the dirt. Then he picked himself up, slapped the dust from his chaps and tried to look casual and unconcerned as he hobbled from the arena. "A no-score. But let him hear that applause, anyway. He needs it more than ever. Whew! When that cowboy wakes up tomorrow, his body's gonna say, `Lord, what happened?"' Five more contestants rode, and still no sign of Wade. "When's Wade gonna be on?" Katie asked impatiently, squirming around so that she was now on her hands and knees. "Maybe he's changed his mind," Sommer said hopefully. "He wouldn't do that," Manuel assured her as he reached for another handful of popcorn. "And now, here's a face most of you should recognize," twanged the announcer's voice. "He's been the National all-around cowboy for the last two years, and he's the one a lot of these fellers are settin' their hearts on beatin'." Then the southern accent boomed into the microphone: "He's Wade Malone! Hails from right here in Las Vegas, Nevada!" The announcer lowered his voice. "Wade holds the high-score record for bareback riding-got an eighty-nine back about two years ago. Now, I've been watching him practice, and he looks good, let me tell ya. He's stayed in shape, and one of the many things in his favor is that he's been here before an' he 95

knows the ropes. You gotta stay cool and keep your head when you're perched on the back of one of those critters." To emphasize the announcer's words, the camera zoomed in for a close-up of Wade. "There he is!" Katie shouted, bouncing up and down on the floor. Sommer felt a tightening in her throat as she gazed upon the handsome, rugged face she hadn't seen for three whole months. Wade was sitting on the top rail of the metal chute. In one smooth movement he swung his leg over and settled himself on the bronc's back, his gloved hand deftly adjusting the grip on the leather rigging. The camera moved in closer, to his face. His blue eyes-his beautiful blue eyes-under the brim of the felt cowboy hat, were intense but calm. As calm as a clear lake, Sommer thought. He looked like he did this every day. "Keep your eyes on gate number four, folks," the announcer said. "He's ridin' a bronc goes by the name of Pulverizer, and it'll be boltin' outta there like a lobo with a rock tied to its tail. Now let's see if Wade can break his old record." Wade gave a small nod. The gate flew open, and he and the horse shot out. "Whew! Man, that's one mean buckin' machine!" the excited announcer yelled. "Higher! Kick higher!" Manuel shouted to the television, half sitting, half standing in his excitement. "That's good! That's good!" "Stop shakin' the couch," Maria complained. "You're gettin' popcorn everywhere." Sommer knew there was more to rodeo riding than merely staying on the horse's back for the full vicious and violent eight seconds. A rider was also judged on how he rode and how high and wild the bronc bucked. The eight-second buzzer sounded, and Wade, not waiting for the pickup man to help him off, jumped free of the bronc, hitting the ground on both feet. After flashing a grin and waving to the cheering crowd, he disappeared behind the bucking chutes. "Listen-to that crowd," the announcer said. "No doubt about it. Wade Malone's a favorite here tonight." "Too bad his hat came off," Manuel commented as the pickup man reined in his horse and dismounted to get Wade's hat. Maria lifted one dark eyebrow and gave her husband a puzzled look. "I'm just glad he didn't get hurt." 96

"That's it? He's done?" Sommer asked. The relief she felt was overwhelming. And it was combined with a strong sense of pride. Wade rode broncs as he did almost everything else, perfectly. She didn't have anything to worry about. He could take care of himself. "That didn't look hard," Katie complained. "He just makes it look easy," Manuel told her. "That's how good he is. That's why he's one of the best." Manuel's point was well taken as they watched some of the next riders get dumped, kicked, bumped and rattled. Halfway through the second competition, which was calf roping, Sommer let out a sigh. This hadn't been as bad as she'd feared. Wade had already done two events, and even though his score in the calf roping wasn't as high as some of the other competitors, he'd still managed to glide through it with ease. "The event coming up, the one you've all been waiting for, is bull riding!" the announcer boomed. "Bull riding! Oh boy!" Katie shouted, worming even closer to the television. "Is Wade gonna ride one of those bulls with the gigantic horns?" Sommer's stomach lurched, and she could swear she heard her heart pounding in her head. "I wanna explain something," the announcer said. "Case you don't know it, these fella's can't choose the bull they ride. It's all done by computer, real fairlike. And all these bulls got their own particular personalities, meaning some can be downright nasty." He paused for a few seconds, then went on. "Looks like we've got Wade Malone up again. An' Wade's ridin' one-ninety-eight, an' oneninety-eight is a bull that's talked about around campfires on dark nights. He's got real high-score potential, which is another way of saying he's nasty and mean as they come, an' he's real bad about hookin'." Sommer let out a low groan. "This ornery devil likes nothin' better'n to get a cowboy down on the ground, then work him over real good. Now Wade's had high scores all evening, but he told me earlier that bull riding is his least favorite event." "Thank God he has a little sense," Sommer muttered. "In fact, he said you gotta be a little weak north of the ears to climb on the back of a crazed bull." The announcer laughed. "Hey, don't brag yourself up so, cowboy. Personally I never could figure out why a man would wanna ride somethin' so big an' mean, somethin' never meant to be ridden."

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The camera closed in again. Wade had changed into a clean shirt and was already straddling the bull. Sommer could see tight lines around his mouth, lines she hadn't noticed in the earlier events. The camera zoomed in on Wade's gloved hands as he secured the bull rope. "Aieee!" Manuel swore. "Don't use the suicide wrap!" "Suicide wrap!" Sommer looked at Manuel in horror, then back at the television screen. "What's a suicide wrap?" It was all she could do to keep from screaming the words. "See how he's twisting the rope around his handtwice? If he falls off on the wrong side of the bull, then he can't untie it." "Why?" The one word was all she could manage to choke out, her throat tight with, fear, but Manuel understood. "I don't know why he's doing it. Sometimes it's just hard to think straight when you on de bull's back. All you wanna do is stay on. An' Wade knows this bull has thrown a lotta cowboys, then come back to horn them." "He's puttin' the old suicide wrap on," came the surprised voice of the announcer. "You should know better than that, ol’ boy-" Then Wade nodded, and the gate flew open. The bull kicked, twisted, bucked and spun around, but Wade clung to his back. Aeons and aeons later, when the eight-second buzzer sounded, Sommer let out her breath. But Wade didn't jump free. "Why isn't he getting off?" Katie asked innocently. "He can't get his hand out," Manuel said with sober worry. "Oh, God. I knew it-" Sommer wanted to take her eyes from the screen, but couldn't. Then, as they watched in hypnotic horror and helplessness, Wade was flung from the bull's back, his hand remaining trapped in the rope behind the animal's bulging neck. He appeared to move in slow motion as his body was flung back and forth like a limp rag doll's. The two rodeo clowns were immediately there, one distracting the enraged bull, while the other ran along its side, trying to get near enough to free Wade's hand. Within seconds the rope was loosened, and Wade dropped to the ground in an unconscious heap. Then one clown was dragging him out of danger, while the other continued to distract the enraged animal. "Let's take a look at that in slow motion," the announcer said. "I'm not sure, but I think our boy may have felt the tip of one of those horns." 98

Just like Wade's friend, Steve, Sommer thought, frozen with shock. The announcer's voice continued to taunt her. "Wade always did say bull ridin' wasn't his thing..." Wade had never told her that. The announcer knew more about him than she did. No, no. Not true, not true. Did he know that Wade liked Maria's apple pie? That he liked dogs and children, her child in particular? The smell of a mesquite fire on a cold morning and getting up before dawn? Did he know that Wade could play "Waltzing Matilda" on his harmonica in a way that tugged your heartstrings and made you want to cry? No! Sommer pulled herself together enough to become aware of the sounds of Katie's sobs and Maria's rapidly whispered Hail Marys. "Katie-" Katie flung herself into Sommer's outstretched arms. "Wade's ... not... dead, is he, Mom?" "Oh, no, honey. I think he's just knocked out. He'll be okay." Oh, God! He had to be okay, he had to be. The instant replay was rolling in slow, awful motion. The four people watching the television were transfixed as the horrible scene repeated itself. "Now watch carefully. As Wade is thrown forward-" the announcer paused "-right there! Right there! Yep, he got it all right. How's he doin'? Anybody know yet? Got his score? Eighty-five, you say? What's the record? Eightynine?" Sommer was thinking about all the things she hadn't said to him, all the things she should have said. Regrets, regrets. Memories flashed in her mind, like movie clips. Wade, after being dumped by Pepper, hair tousled like a sleepy child's. Wade entertaining them with spinning lariat tricks. He'd blandly told her that Will Rogers had been some relation of his, and Sommer had scoffed, thought he was joking. And Wade, so sad, so serious, telling her he loved her. And she had never said those words back. The announcer's mockingly cheerful voice penetrated the shocked haze that had settled over her. "You know, there's a lot of pressure up there, and once you're at the top, there's no way to go but down. You can't hang on to that position forever." The live camera zoomed in to show Wade's unconscious body being lifted onto a stretcher then carried through a metal gate beside the bucking pens. Fear tore at Sommer's heart. She should have gone with him. At least to Las Vegas. She should be there now. Not sitting hundreds of miles away, helpless.

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Her mind raced. It could be done. She could go to him. If she caught a plane in Albuquerque, she could be in Las Vegas in a matter of hours. There was no deciding to it, she knew she was going. "I'll tell you what, Katie. I'm going to go to Las Vegas myself, just to make sure blade's okay." "You are?" Katie sniffed, looking up at Sommer. "Can I come, too?" "No, sweetheart." She couldn't take Katie, not knowing how badly off Wade was, "You stay here with Maria, and I'll call as soon as I have news. I promise." She helped Katie dry her eyes and blow her nose, then hurried to the office. She switched on the light. Money. She would need money to get there. "Nina-" Maria had come to stand silently in the doorway, watching as Sommer rifled through the desk "-I don't know about this...." Sommer slammed the drawer shut and stuck the money in her purse. "I can be there in a few hours, Maria." She slung her purse strap over her shoulder. It felt good to be doing something, taking action. "Let's see, what else needs to be done? You'll stay with Katie, won't you? And do you think Manuel will drive me to the airport? There's ground corn in the barn for Red. He gets a small coffee can full with about an inch of oats on the top. Elsie still eats Puppy Chow. Katie knows how much. The cattle in the lot get eight buckets of corn a dayManuel knows-" She put a hand to her forehead. "Oh, Maria, I can't think straight...." "Sommer, I'm glad you wanna go," Maria said. "Wade is a good man. A giver, not a taker like Tom was. But Sommer, you're forgetting one thing-" "I don't want to waste time packing, Maria. I've got enough money to get there-" She looked around her, trying to see if she'd missed something. "That's not what I'm talking about. Sommer... you don't fly." "I know, I know." She waved her hand impatiently. "That doesn't matter. I'll fly anyway. Don't look at me like that. I haven't lost my mind. Maybe I've found it. Now, if Manuel will just take me to the airport..." Maria had enough presence of mind to call the airport and inquire about flights. It would be another four hours before the next one to Las Vegas. That gave Sommer enough time to pack a few things, tuck Katie into bed and reassure her once more that Wade would be okay. By the time she and Manuel arrived at the Albuquerque airport, it was one in the morning, a half hour before her plane was to depart. "You don't have to wait with me, Manuel," she told him, hoping that he would anyway. 100

"No, you know Maria say to wait till you take off. You might change your mind." He took a pinch of snuff from the tin in his hand, then stuck the can back inside the pocket of his plaid Western shirt. "I won't change my mind." "That's okay. I stayin' anyway." He settled into one of the green vinyl chairs and stuck his feet out in front of him, crossing them at his booted ankles. "Wade Malone-you love him," he said bluntly. Sommer sank down on the edge of the seat next to Manuel's. She clasped and unclasped her hands. "Tell me I'm right this time, Manuel," she whispered. "You're right, Sommer. Wade's a good man. An' he been in love with you for a long time. I see it in his eyes whenever he talk about you." Manuel sighed. "Ahhh ... I remember when I first met Maria. It was hard on me-here," he said, pointing to his chest. "She was stubborn, an' we doing the fighting too much. No, I wouldn't wanna be young again." Gradually as Manuel talked, Sommer began to relax. And soon it was almost time for her plane to depart. "Thanks, Manuel," she said, gripping his outstretched hand. "I'll call as soon as I get there." "When you see Wade, be good to him, Sommer. Don't make him hurt too much." She stood up. "You men all stick together, don't you?" she said with a smile. Then she left him to walk through security and down the ramp to the plane. She could do it, she told herself as she waited for the airplane to take off. For Wade, she could overcome this fear. Finally the plane was taxiing down the runway, the wheels lifting from the pavement. And Sommer lived through it. Wade-she kept seeing him being lifted onto the stretcher and carried away. He'd been unconscious, but that didn't necessarily mean he was seriously injured, she assured herself. He could be up and walking by now. She wasn't sure how she would go about finding him once she arrived in Las Vegas. She had his home address-a cabin in the foothills outside of town. But would he be there? If his injury was serious, he'd be in a hospital somewhere. But she didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to think about Wade lying in a hospital bed, pale and helpless. The captain's voice came over the loudspeaker, announcing that they were just five minutes away from McCarron Airport in Las Vegas. Then he hit her with the bad news. They would be forced to circle the airport for approximately 101

fifteen minutes, and the passengers were supposed to sit back and enjoy the lights. Sommer squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the arms of her seat. Just a little longer and she would be on the ground. Just a little longer... Then the wheels were touching the ground, and relief was wrapping around her like a second skin. The engines shut down, the passenger door opened and soon she was navigating the aisle on shaky legs, knowing that only steps away was the blessed earth, and a little farther, Wade.

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Chapter Eleven Slowly Wade swung his legs over the side of the bed, carefully placing his stocking feet on the polished floor. The hospital room pitched like the deck of a rolling ship, and Wade paused, waiting for it to stabilize. At least he was alive, he told himself. And living had become very important to him lately. "Where do you think you're going?" his manager demanded. Wade walked over to the long narrow cupboard. "I've got to make a phone call." "Get back in bed. I'll make it for you," Jack McGrew told him. "Who you wanting to call?" Wade opened the cupboard and found his bloody clothes and boots. "You're my manager, not my jailer. And this isn't a call to my lawyer." The first thoughts Wade had had when he came to behind the bucking chutes, cowboys and a worried clown hovering over him, were of Sommer and Katie. He'd felt the warm, sticky blood on his side and knew he'd been gored. And knew that every second of it had been recorded on national television. Sometimes, modern technology could be a real pain. Sommer and Katie would have seen every bloody second of the whole thing. The thought made his stomach churn. He knew how the media liked to play up stuff like that. They would have run the tape over and over, back and forth, slow, fast and freezeframe, playing it for all it was worth. "The doc said you should stay in bed." Jack stubbed out his fat cigar in a nearby ashtray, his suit pulling tightly against his arms and back. Since becoming Wade's manager, Jack had put on weight like a market steer. At least somebody was thriving on his success, Wade thought as he dropped his clothes on the bed, trying to ignore the jagged pain that ran up his stitched, bandaged side. Right after the accident Wade had tried getting to a phone to call Sommer, but nobody would listen to him. Finally the doctor gave him a shot that had knocked him out. Next thing he knew, he was in the hospital being stitched together under glaring lights by a green-masked surgeon. And damn if every stitch being taken wasn't reflected in the doctor's glasses. But he'd had an awful time keeping his eyes open and had finally slipped into unconsciousness again.

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"The doc wanted you to stay under observation for a few more hours," Jack reminded him. When he saw that Wade was determined to get his clothes back on, he relented. "Okay, okay. I'll bring the phone in. Just stay here." Wade let out a sigh as he sank back down on the edge of the bed. Jack could be a real headache. Right now he was clucking over him like a mother hen, but tomorrow he would expect Wade to ride bulls and broncs as if nothing had happened. Jack returned carrying the phone. He plugged it into the wall outlet, then put the phone down on the bed next to Wade. "Have at it," he said grumpily. "But I don't know what you're so fired-up about." Wade didn't even look at him. He picked up the receiver with his bandaged hand, dialed with his right and waited. One ring ... two... "Come on, come on-" Then he heard a click as the receiver was picked up. "Buenos dias, " came Maria's groggy voice. "I mean, buenas noches," she corrected herself. "Maria?" "Wade!" Maria shot off an excited mixture of Spanish and English, the gist of which Wade understood to be concern over his welfare. "Maria, Maria... I'm okay. Listen, I've got to talk to Sommer. She what?" A slow, satisfied smile crept across his features as Maria explained. "Flew, you say? No kidding! Yeah, I know she doesn't fly. Found out the hard way. Katie? No, don't wake her. Well, if she's been having bad dreams..." Then Katie's sleepy voice was whispering over the phone. He had a mental image of her in her rosebud nightgown, feet bare, eyes closed, cradling the phone. He reassured her that he was okay, then told her to go back to bed. "Wade," came her quiet voice. "Promise ... and come home ... miss you...." "I'll be back before Christmas, sweetheart. I promise." After he hung up, the look of satisfaction remained on his face. He moved the phone aside and reached for his clothes. "What are you up to?" Jack asked. "You made your phone call." As he bent to pull on his jeans, Wade felt the blood-what little he had leftdrain from his face. "I'm going to McCarron Airport." Now, if he could just manage to get his boots on without passing out, he'd be home free.... "Airport! You can't leave!" Wade winced as he stiffly pulled on his torn, blood-caked shirt. It even hurt to bend his arm to fasten the buttons. "I'm picking somebody up. Do me a favor.

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Check me out of this place or whatever you have to do. And don't let any of those reporters know I've left." Jack looked ready to argue, then stopped, seeing the determination on Wade's face. "Just don't forget, you've got a contract." "I haven't forgotten. Not for a minute." Without bothering to tuck in his shirt-a torn, bloody shirt tucked in or out, what difference did it make-he went down the hall and slipped out a side door. He'd gotten to the hospital by ambulance, which meant his truck was still at the rodeo grounds. Wade hated taking cabs, but that's what he was forced to do. When the cabdriver dropped him off at the arena, Wade gave him a generous tip before hurrying to where he'd left his truck. Not even taking time to stop at his cabin to shower, he drove directly to the airport. He knew he smelled like horses, sweat and blood, but he wanted to be there when Sommer stepped off the plane. He parked the truck and got out, moving through the dark of early morning toward the main doors of the terminal building. Three more hours and it would be dawn. Checking the flight board, he found that the only plane due in from Albuquerque had landed five minutes ago. He was on his way to gate two when he saw her. She was all of a hundred paces away, but it was hard to miss her coal-black hair in the crowd. As she neared, he could see that her face was almost as white as the glaring walls. She looked as if she might pass out at any second. She looked as if she needed protecting. He smiled. Now wouldn't that rile her? To know that she evoked such instincts in him? She wanted to be strong like a sturdy oak, but she couldn't fool him. Even an oak bends in a strong wind. How he loved her. And she loved him. He knew that now. His worries and doubts were gone. They had vanished as soon as Maria told him Sommer had caught a flight to Las Vegas. He waited for her to approach, one of a small, bedraggled group of groggy passengers. Suddenly, as if sensing his presence, her dazed eyes shifted, turned his direction, then widened in disbelief. He saw her lips mouth his name, and then she was hurrying toward him through the crowd. "Wade!" Without thinking; she dropped her blue case and threw herself at him. He braced his body for the pain he expected to feel in his side. But when it came, it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. He'd hardly gotten a chance to wrap his arms

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around her when she stepped back to examine him, looking from his dirty, bloodstained shirt to his pale face. "Didn't have time to clean up," he muttered. "Oh, Wade! When we saw you on TV, I was so afraid-" Her words broke off abruptly. No declarations of love here. Well, he hadn't expected any. "How could you be so reckless?" Reckless. Not very lover-like, he decided. She had some learning to do, and he was just the one to do the instructing. "A superficial flesh wound," he lied, thinking of the forty stitches, feeling every place the needle had gone in and come out. "How did you know I was coming?" "I called your house as soon as they let me." The eyes looking up at him were red rimmed and skeptical. She reached out, lightly touching the white bandage that showed through the jagged tear in his cowboy shirt. "Oh, Wade-" Now her eyes were filling, and as much as it hurt him to see her cry, he was savoring this moment. Sommer McBlain loved him. She could deny it for the next hundred years, but he knew the truth. Because she had flown for him, and now she was crying for him. Wasn't life great? "Come on." He put an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go to my cabin, and I'll fix some breakfast." "Chili?" A lone tear trickled down her pale cheek, and he brushed it away with a strong, gentle finger. "Scrambled eggs." "Oh. I was kind of missing your chili...." Love words. Love words from Sommer McBlain. She missed his chili. "And I missed you," he replied with a satisfied smile.

Wade was trying to crack eggs one-handed, insisting he had learned the trick from an old camp cook. "Let me do that," Sommer finally said, when she couldn't stand watching his clumsy struggles any longer. She had just talked to Maria on the phone, assuring her that she'd arrived in one piece and that Wade was up and walking. Wade didn't argue about the cooking. Instead, while Sommer stirred the eggs, he got out glasses and plates, then sank stiffly into a chair. As she dished the eggs from the skillet to his plate, she noticed how drawn his face was, beard stubble contrasting starkly with too pale skin. "You should 106

lie down as soon as you're done eating." It was strange and a little scary to see his vitality at an ebb like this, and it made her feel fiercely protective toward him. "I must be ready to put out to pasture." His smile was weary. "I don't bounce back like I used to." After going through what he had tonight, she couldn't imagine anyone doing it again, let alone bouncing back. She poured two glasses of milk, then sat down across from him. "You know what I'd like to do?" he asked, after taking a bite of eggs. "What?" Sommer put her elbows on the table, chin on her knuckles, leaving her food untouched. She should be exhausted after her scare over Wade, her terrifying flight and missing a night's sleep, but she wasn't. What she felt was relaxed and content as they sat together in the rough, masculine kitchen, lamplight giving the oak-planked room a cozy hue. "I'd like to raise and train cattle horses." "You mean quit the rodeo completely?" She hardly dared to hope. "No. I'd like to start a rancher's rodeo. Mainly for guys who ranch for a living. This professional stuff is getting too slick and commercial for my taste. But I know I could never leave the rodeo for good." She had to be truthful with herself. She couldn't imagine Wade leaving it, either. Rodeo and Wade just went together. But did she figure into any of his plans? After they finished breakfast, Wade slowly got up, saying he was going to take a shower. Sommer washed and dried the dishes, then quietly walked down the hallway, stopping in front of the bathroom door. A muffled curse sounded from behind it. "Wade?" she asked hesitantly, wondering if he was all right. "Come on in-" She pushed the door partway open and looked inside. Wade was half sitting, half leaning against the bathroom sink, hair wet from his shower, jeans on, chest bare, trying to rebandage his wound. Her breath caught in her throat. "Superficial!" She stepped inside. "You call that superficial?" Wade's expression made her think of a little boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Her gaze left his guilty face and dropped back down to stare in horror at the jagged stitching that started from below his left breastbone and ended an

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inch above the waistband of his jeans. "You shouldn't have changed the dressing so soon." "It's not as serious as it looks," he said with a deliberate shrug. He had several five-inch squares of gauze he obviously planned to tape to himself. "Here. Let me do that. Don't you have any longer strips?" "Nope. Hadn't planned on needing any." She held the gauze in place with one hand, then took the strip of white adhesive tape from him with the other. She didn't worry about pulling any of his chest hairs-the entire wound area had been shaved smooth. "I would think you'd keep all sorts of medical supplies around," she told him dryly. "Hah, hah-ow!" "Sorry." She opened another square of gauze and laid it against his hot skin, trying not to catch any of the stitches. "Tape." Her hand was extended, palm open, but he didn't put anything in it. She bent her head back so she could look up at him, aware that her face was only inches from his chest. "This is nice, isn't it?" he asked with a whimsical smile. "Together... in the bathroom. Just like Ozzie and Harriet." "Give me some tape." He tore a piece from the reel and handed it to her. "I seriously doubt if Ozzie ever came home with a gash in his side from a bull's horn," she said, trying to ignore the overwhelming temptation to stroke his bare chest, to bring her mouth up to his. When she finished with the last square, he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her toward him. Then his head came down, blocking out the light from the bare ceiling bulb. His lips moved over hers. They were warm and caring. He tasted minty, like toothpaste, and he smelled like soap. She touched his bare arms, feeling the muscles tense under her hands, aware of his knees pressing against the outside of her legs. Languid heat ran through her veins, and she felt a melting in her body. It was like the time at the springfed pool, and yet it was also like the time at her house. Fire and tenderness. The combination was earthshattering. She felt a trembling course through him-or was it coursing through her? And then he was taking his lips from hers, holding her slightly away. "I've heard.. .the bathroom's one of the most dangerous places in the home. Now I know what they meant." He suddenly looked about ready to collapse. "Why don't we move this show to the living room?" "I think you should go to bed." 108

"No. I want ... to... talk awhile, and I have an inkling that the bedroom would be even ... more dangerous than this place." He swayed. "Wade!" She grabbed him and he leaned heavily on her. "S'okay," he mumbled. "I'm just tired." "Where's the bedroom?" "That way, but-" "You're going to bed." Half supporting him, she guided him toward the bedroom, stopping in front of a dark doorway. Wade groped around the corner, flicking on the light switch to reveal a room full of clutter, clutter that rivaled Sommer's messy house. "You know," he said, letting go of the doorframe and moving toward the bed, "sometimes when I'm really, really tired, I get punchy. Then I start talking. . , and talking.... Can't seem to stop myself." "Lie down," she commanded, gently pushing him in the direction of the double bed. "S'like I'm drunk." "Wade- Lie down. Please." "What?" He glanced behind him at the bed. "Oh." He sat down too fast, letting out a groan and putting a hand to his side. Then with Sommer's help he slowly eased himself back against the pillow. "Does your side hurt terribly?" she asked as she helped him settle his feet at the end of the bed. He looked so pale and weak. "Not too bad. But my head's startin' to pound." He patted the spot beside him. "Don't leave. Lie down here and talk to me for a while." His injured hand lay across his stomach, and now that the bandage was off, she could see that the entire hand was black and blue and swollen. She sat down on the edge of the bed, being careful not to jar him, and looked around the room. It fascinated her. He seemed to be able to create disorder just as easily as she could. A set of deer antlers hung on the wall, jauntily decorated with Wade's cowboy hat. Jeans and Western shirts were piled in one corner next to his battered suitcase. The rest of the room was littered with a brand-new saddle, several pairs of boots, ropes, chaps and gloves, most of which had probably been given to him by manufacturers who hoped he would use and advertise their products. "You're a sloppy housekeeper, Wade Malone," she commented, the love she felt for him edging into her voice. "Seems I noticed the same thing about you," he mumbled teasingly, eyes half closed. "That makes us compatible. You're a slob, I'm a slob...." 109

Sommer felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You leave wet towels on the floor, so do I..." His voice was sounding groggier by the second. "I do not leave wet towels on the floor," she protested softly. "You mount a horse from the left, so do I... "Everybody does." "I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, so do you." He gave an almost imperceptible, drowsy laugh. "How d'you like that? Finally get you in my bed, an' I'm about as useless as a four-card flush...." His eyelids fell completely, then his breathing became rhythmic and steady. She leaned over and felt his forehead with her cool hand. At least he wasn't feverish. Softly she stroked her fingers down the side of his face to his neck. "Want to know something else?" he muttered, eyes still closed. He caught her small hand in his large one. Her skin wasn't exactly, soft, but compared to his work-worn calluses, it was like satin, satin touching roughed-out leather. She leaned closer. "What?" He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her red, windburned knuckles as if they were something beautiful, something to cherish. "You love me." His hand, still holding hers, dropped to his bare chest. Then he began to snore.

A ringing phone penetrated the sleepy haze of Sommer's mind. Slowly she became aware of being curled up next to Wade on the bed, the hairs of his chest rough against her cheek. "Let it ring," he mumbled, his arm tightening around her as she started to get up. But the caller was persistent. And the phone was only three feet from her head. "It might be important." She disentangled herself from Wade's arms and scooted to the side of the bed. Reaching out, she picked up the receiver, stopping it in the middle of a shrill ring. The silence was a blessed relief. "Wade there?" came a harsh, deep voice through the telephone line. "Just a minute." In the morning light she looked at Wade, a questioning expression on her face. "Jack. Gotta be Jack." Wincing, he inched his body up, so his back was leaning against the headboard. "Jack's the only person with such a rude ring." He took the receiver from Sommer while she set the base of the phone between

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them on the bed. She started to get up to leave the room, but he reached out and stopped her. "Don't go." As he spoke into the telephone, he gently stroked the delicate skin of her inner wrist. "Yeah? You did what?" Wade's voice was heavy with exasperation. "What time? Yeah, yeah. I'll be there." He hung up, then looked at Sommer in frustration. "My manager scheduled a press conference for me at some posh downtown hotel. Got to be there in two hours. You'll come, won't you?" She was setting the phone back on the stand next to the bed. "Oh, I don't know, Wade. I didn't bring a dress..." "Jeans will be okay." He pulled her down beside him on the bed. "I'd like for you to come." How did he do that? Ask in such a way that she couldn't bring herself to refuse? He was stroking her hip, pulling her closer when out of a haze of pleasant sensations came a disconcerting thought. "Wade, you're not going to ride in the rodeo again, are you?" His hand stopped. Before he spoke, he took a deep breath. "Sommer-I have to." He was staring at her, as if waiting for the burst of emotion he knew was coming. "You have to? Don't you mean, you want to?" She couldn't believe this was happening. How could he possibly think about riding another bull? "I have a contract." "So, break it. Oh, Wade! It's not worth getting your side torn open again, is it?" "Sommer, a few stitches are nothing in this business. I've ridden with my leg in a cast before." "I'm not surprised!" She quickly moved off the bed to stand facing him, arms crossed at her waist, body stiff with anger. "I won't go out a quitter," he told her. "I know I can't win with my side like this, but I'm not going to have people saying I quit just because I knew I was losing." "What do you care what other people think? As long as you know the truth?" "I do care, Sommer. I care a lot. Because I've got a closet full of letters from boys who want to grow up to be like me. What the hell kind of example would I be setting if I quit because I was a poor loser?" She turned her back on him, reliving in her mind the events of last night. Seeing him nearly killed. Right now she didn't care about the boys who wanted 111

to grow up to be like him. She only cared about Wade. Maybe that was selfish of her, but what good's a hero if he's dead? "Sommer-let's not argue." He got up, the bedsprings squeaking. "If you don't mind," she said stiffly, "I think I'll take a shower before we go."

When they arrived at the hotel, Wade was immediately swept away in a giant wave of people. And Sommer was perfectly satisfied to remain anonymously at the edge of the crowd. She supposed she should have expected it, and yet she was surprised to see the way Wade was treated. Like a movie star. Microphones were shoved at him, questions rapped out, several at a time. But Wade remained calm and collected, telling them that his tumble yesterday had been just that, a tumble. He assured them that he'd only been grazed. "Forty stitches is hardly a graze!" somebody shouted, and the crowd laughed. With a sense of alienation, Sommer watched from the sidelines. "You must be Sommer." She turned to see a short, heavy man, smoking a big cigar. "I'm Jack McGrew, Wade's manager," he said conversationally. "Heard Wade mention your name once." "Hello." "He looks great, doesn't he? You know, there hasn't been a cowboy come along like Wade for a whole lotta years. And that little accident yesterday didn't ruin his career at all. Now he's a hero. Yep, the boy's gonna go far. He's got a presence, a charisma, and he doesn't even know it. He's gonna be another Larry Mahan. Bigger than Mahan, maybe. That is, if something doesn't happen to trip him up. If he doesn't quit now, at the peak of his career. Course, I'm not worried." He gave a short laugh. "Wade always said that rodeoing's more important to him than breathin'. Every summer he takes off in that plane of his, threatening to quit. But he always comes back. Just needs a vacation, that's all. Everybody needs a vacation. Look at him. He's lovin' it!" Sommer looked through the crowd to where Wade stood, surrounded by people. She could see his profile, white teeth flashing in his tan, smiling face as he talked to a female reporter, totally in his element. And even though she knew Jack McGrew was trying to warn her off, she couldn't deny the ring of truth his words held. Wade was loving it. Loyalty to his fans wasn't the only reason he 112

was staying, she realized. Wade was staying because he loved the rodeo. Wade was rodeo. And Sommer didn't belong in this glitzy world of plush red carpet and cut crystal, of elegantly dressed people wearing gold watches and designer clothes. It might be okay for them, but this kind of setting made her infinitely uncomfortable. Give her an open pasture any day. But Wade had blended in like a chameleon, she saw with shock. She only had to look at him to see the truth, Jack McGrew or no Jack McGrew. This strange world was a part of him, and he was a part of it. And she was an alien, could never fit in, would never want to. Rodeo's more important to him than breathin'. As if analyzing the situation from afar, she saw that nothing could come of their relationship. Never even noticing what had happened to Wade's manager, she stumbled toward the door. What had she been thinking in coming here to him? Then she answered her own question. She hadn't been thinking at all. Only feeling. For the second time in her life she had allowed her heart to rule instead of her head. Once outside she started to hail a cab to take her to the nearest bus station, but then realized she couldn't just disappear without telling Wade. With emotions locked away, she scribbled a brief note and left it under the windshield wiper of his truck, telling him she was leaving, telling him she was going home where she belonged.

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Chapter Twelve Sommer addressed another Christmas card, then placed it on the increasing stack. She would be glad when the holidays were over, she was finding it difficult to be festive. Stretching her cramped fingers, she got up from the couch and added another mesquite log to the dying fire. Dripping sap popped and crackled, the heady fumes filling the den. Wade liked the smell of mesquite. He'd told her once that it reminded him of the first trail rides he'd ever been on. "Do you think Wade'll like his Christmas present?" Katie was sitting crosslegged on the floor near the fire. She held up a tie rack she'd been working on for the past several days. It was a gaudy thing with Wade's name carefully and lovingly fashioned out of macaroni shells, the tie holders from painted clothespins. Just the kind of gift a daughter would give a father, and he would cherish. Sommer knew she would have to tell Katie that Wade wasn't coming back, and she dreaded it. Dreaded breaking down herself in front of Katie. "That's real pretty, honey." "What are you gonna give him? I promised I wouldn't tell what he's getting for you, but you'll really like it." "Katie..." Sommer sat down on the floor next to her daughter. She should have told her two weeks ago-as soon as she got back from Nevada. Katie looked up from wrapping the present, her face expectant. "Katie, I'm afraid Wade isn't going to be here for Christmas." She swallowed. "I don't think he's coming back." She could hardly get the last word out through her tightly constricted throat. "But, Mom, he is coming back," Katie insisted, looking up at her mother with huge, liquid eyes. Sommer shook her head, unable to speak. "I know he is. He promised to be back by Christmas, so I know he will." "Katie, sometimes people can't always keep their promises. Things happen that can't be helped." Katie jumped to her feet. "Wade will! He told me that people should always tell the truth. That they should always do what they say. He'll be back, 'cause he said so." Katie took her present and ran from the room. So easy, so simple... If only life were really that way, Sommer thought wistfully. She pulled her knees up to her chin and stared at the fire. How could she chastise Katie, when she herself sometimes forgot he was gone? When her 114

every thought and action went back to Wade? Would it ever end? Would he ever quit haunting her? He had been a part of their lives for so long that now everything, even her daily chores, reminded her of Wade. Sometimes she thought she heard him singing off-key in the barn lot, and she often caught herself listening for his booted footfall on the porch. And then reality would take hold, and she would remember he was gone. Down deep she had hoped to hear from him, but there had been nothing. He had reentered his world, taking his enthusiasm and warmth with him, leaving their lives a little more barren. And yet there was no escaping the memories. Even Paul, who had never been on a horse in his life, had suddenly taken to wearing a huge cowboy hat and pointed-toed boots while driving Wade's truck around town. He'd even decorated the bar in rodeo motif and was now talking about roping off Wade's old room as a tourist attraction. Sommer thought he'd been kidding about the room, but with Paul a person could never be entirely sure. Infiltration... Wade had infiltrated into their lives, subtly blending in until he had become a part of their world, a part of them. Only last week she had gone into the grocery store and seen Wade's photograph staring back at her from a magazine cover. Because he was, as Jack McGrew had predicted, a hero now. And it seemed that America liked a hero who was a little less than perfect, who could take a rough fall and get back up. And he'd also been right about Wade having that special, hard-to-define quality that made him star material. By merely looking at his picture, she was able to feel his vibrancy, his zest for life. She gave herself a mental shake. The Christmas cards... She had to finish addressing them. With a feeling of emptiness she picked up the pen.

"When are we gonna cut our Christmas tree?" Katie asked as the Jeep rolled to a stop in front of the school building. "We'll cut it after school today," her mother promised. Katie thought a moment. "We should probably wait for Wade. I'll bet he'd like to come with us." Sommer sighed and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You're going to be late for school, Katie." How did her daughter come by such obstinacy?

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Katie gathered up her backpack and Scooby-Doo lunch box, then hopped from the Jeep. When she reached the school, she turned and waved before hurrying through the double doors. Sommer put the Jeep in gear and pulled away from the curb, feeling heartsick. Katie was so devoted to Wade. How would she react when the fact that he wasn't coming back finally sank in? Heartsick. She would be heartsickjust like her mother. When Sommer arrived home, Elsie, the puppy Wade had given them, ran out to greet her. Elsie was already a good cattle dog, every bit as good as Sommer's old dog, Tucker, just as Wade had promised. And both Sommer and Katie were already fiercely attached to her. "You can't come with me today, girl," Sommer told her, bending down to pet the dog's soft head. "I'm riding Red." She straightened up and walked to the barn, the dog trotting along at her heels. After putting the saddle on the horse, Sommer realized she'd forgotten the blanket. She had to remove the heavy saddle and start over. That's how everything had gone lately. Even the simplest of tasks, tasks she should have been able to perform with her eyes closed, seemed to take all of her concentration and more. Probably because she had numbed herself, numbed herself to the pain that would engulf her eventually. She put her foot in the stirrup and swung herself into the saddle. If she could just make it through Christmas.... But then, winters in Valle Grande could be rough and downright secluded. Sometimes they were snowed in for a week at a time, and she didn't need that. She needed to keep busy, very busy. When she topped the ridge of the valley, chill winds tugged at her hair and stole down her shirt collar. She zipped her down vest, thankful for its warmth. Her knuckles were red from the cold, and she chastised herself for forgetting her gloves again. The cattle were in a tight group near the valley's center, and Sommer rode through them, watching for signs of illness and counting to make sure none were missing. When she was done, she turned the horse toward Eagle Nest, knowing it was a place she should avoid, a place too conducive to thought, but she couldn't help herself. Once there she dismounted, letting the reins fall over Red's head so he could graze. The air wasn't as gusty in the protection of the valley's bowl, the warm sun felt good on her cool cheeks. She leaned against a huge boulder, her eyes 116

scanning the sky. There was one of the eagles, circling high above the valley floor. With a sense of déjà vu, she watched it, recalling the strange feeling she had had when Wade's antique plane had appeared in the sky. Had it only been a few short months ago? He had come like the eagle, and she had wondered what prey he sought, never dreaming it would be her heart. The bird drifted lower, so low that she could see the white feathers covering the bald eagle's proud head. As she watched, it disappeared behind a ridge to where its nest was located high in a towering pine. With a sigh she settled back against the sun-warmed rock, allowing her depression to flow around her. It seemed crazy, but when she'd walked away from Wade, it had almost seemed as if she'd walked away from a part of herself. Would she ever be the same again, the way she was before? She did that now. Classified everything into categories of "before" and "after" Wade. Had she made a mistake? What if he needed her? The thought was ludicrous. Wade had the world at his feet. Why would he need her? And yet he had a vulnerable side. She had caught a glimpse of it more than once. A low, steady hum slowly infiltrated her bleak thoughts. She looked up, shading her eyes against the brightness of the sun. An airplane. It couldn't be.... Her heart began to pound, there was a roaring in her ears as blood rushed through her veins. Finally the plane was close enough for her to see the yellow, staggered wings and the enclosed, bulky body. She wanted to jump up and down. She wanted to wave her arms and shout. Instead she laughed out loud. The plane circled wide, then came in low, cockily dipping one wing as it roared over her. Then it lined up to land and soon it was taxiing toward her. The propeller stopped, the door opened, and Wade was standing there. He was wearing a fleece-lined jean jacket and a white shirt, his sun-streaked hair was being licked and tossed by the mountain wind. She thought about how darned handsome he was. She thought about how good he looked. And she thought about how much she had missed him. The old fear shot through her. She never wanted to miss anybody like that again, ever. It hurt too much. He was here, but she wouldn't allow herself to hope he'd come back for good. "Why'd you come back?" she shouted up at him, hands on her hips, legs braced apart. "You're always rolling out the red carpet for me, aren't you?" He jumped to the ground, then started walking toward her. "Maybe you don't give a rip, but 117

there's a certain little girl who will be awfully disappointed if I don't show up for Christmas." He stopped in front of her. There were lines of stress where laugh lines should be. "You panicked, didn't you?" One corner of bit sensuous mouth turned up. "Just like you're panicking now. Something scares you, and you bolt. Just like a spooky filly." He was right. Her heart was beating like an Indian drum. "You don't belong here!" The chill wind tried to whip her words away. "You don't belong in a little place nobody's ever heard of!" "Hell if I don't. I love you, Sommer. And like it or not, you love me." "I...ah-" "Tell me you don't," he dared, his blue eyes intense. "Tell me you don't love me." He reached out and grabbed her by the arms. "Just tell me you don't, and I'll leave. I won't bother you again. But I want to hear you say it." She could feel the pressure of his fingertips as he waited for her answer. She dropped her gaze to focus intently on the white T-shirt that showed at his unbuttoned shirt collar. "Wade, I..." Her throat tightened, feeling as if a band of steel had wrapped around it. She was so scared. To speak the truth would be leaving herself unprotected and vulnerable; to not speak the truth would mean to lose him forever. "Sommer..." With one strong-gentle finger, he tilted her chin up so she was looking at him through the haze of her tear-filled eyes. "Don't do this to me," she begged in a whisper. "Please don't do this to me." "To you? What about me? How do you think I felt when I found out you'd run again? I can't take much more of this. What do I have to do to convince you?" His finger moved from her chin, tracing along the line of her jaw until it came to the soft skin below her ear. "I love you. I want to marry you," he told her. "I want to live here with you and Katie. We can raise cutting horses and start a rancher's rodeo..." Her tongue ran nervously over dry lips, and she could taste the salt of her own tears. "What about you being a hero and a star and everything?" "I told you before, I don't care about any of that. I want you. Sommer-" there was a look of desperation on his rugged face "-I need you." He meant it, and she was awed by that knowledge. Wade Malone, rodeo cowboy hero, needed her, Sommer McBlain, widow, rancher, nonhero. She couldn't explain what happened, but suddenly she knew, she believed, she trusted, and it seemed as if the world were turning just for her. She knew 118

that what they shared between them was as real as the sun's warmth upon her face, as real as the earth beneath their feet. "Wade..." The strange words came hesitantly, shyly. "I... love you." With a loud whoop he pulled her into his arms, squeezing her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. When he let go slightly, she took a deep breath. He smelled like rain-spattered desert and cowboy leather. Her hands stole inside his denim jacket, wanting to feel the solid warmth of him, reassuring herself that he was here, that he was real, that this was no dream. The wind around them didn't feel as cold, having changed directions. A "westerly" was blowing in, bringing with it fair weather. "Don't ever leave me again," he said, burying his face in her hair. "I won't," she swore, her body weak and warm at the same time. She could feel his strength as she leaned against him. Cupping his hand under her chin, he tilted her face up to meet his. And then his lips were moving over hers, and his kiss tasted like sunshine and tears and kept promises. A winged shadow fell across them. Then the eagle above them banked and soared higher and higher, disappearing into the brightness of the sun. **********

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