The whiskey had dulled the sharp edge of his agony, and with effort he eased his legs over the trunk so he was facing the opposite direction.
The view stole his breath.The valley spread beneath them, honey gold in the setting sun.He picked out the U-shaped roofline of the ranch house with the pool inset like a chip of turquoise.Some distance away, the corrals resembled a tic-tac-toe design against the dun color of the bladed earth.Nearer, a flash of light indicated where the pond lay, its surface gilded by lingering sunbeams.
Land.His land, and his partners’ land, if he wanted it enough.He’d never owned even a square foot of anything.He’d lived in leased apartments all his adult life and had never minded the lack of ownership.Until now.
Surveying the wide sweep of the True Love’s holdings, a new hunger filled him.“Where’s the eastern boundary?”he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on the panorama.
“We crossed it about a mile above the pond.We’re standing on Forest Service land, of which we lease a thousand acres.”
“That much?”
“We need it to run the herd we have.”
“Do you bring Duane’s cattle up here, too?”
Freddy chuckled and shook her head.“He’d never let those precious critters run around loose up here.They might lose an ounce or chip a hoof.”
A hundred and sixty acres.And a thousand more leased for grazing.It seemed an immense chunk to a guy who lived in nine-hundred-square feet of space in Manhattan.“It’s a lot of land,” he murmured.
“Yes, although not compared to seventy years ago.Thaddeus and Clara were able to homestead twice as much, three hundred and twenty acres.But in the time since they died, pieces had to be sold off to take care of debts.Eb Whitlock bought a hundred acres twenty-five years ago.”
“To think the ranch was twice this big once.I wish I could have seen it in the glory days of cattle ranching.”
Freddy sighed.“I wish I could have, too.”
They stood in silence as the crimson sun eased below a horizon trimmed with a rickrack of mountains.T.R.wondered if he’d ever watched the sunset before in all his thirty-five years.He’d had no idea what he’d been missing.
ChapterSix
For an Eastener, T.R.was handling himself pretty well, Freddy thought as she collected wood for a fire.She’d expected him to be in a nasty mood by now, but the whiskey and the sunset over the valley had mellowed him considerably.She’d left him on the log with the flask of whiskey while she completed the routine chores of setting up camp.In short order she’d unsaddled the horses, draped the pads over the saddles to dry and hobbled Mikey and Maureen in a nearby clearing where they could graze.
The altitude and lack of sun was cooling the dry air quickly.Greenhorns like T.R.didn’t realize a drop of nearly forty degrees was common in the desert at night.He’d need that jacket he’d been reluctant to bring, and the warmth of a fire, as well.And the Bag Balm and liniment.Considering the lack of privacy the camp provided, she wondered if T.R.would have the nerve to take off his clothes and apply the remedies.
As she crouched next to the fire and stirred the packet of dried stew into a small pot of water, the sound of shuffling footsteps announced his arrival behind her.
“Smells pretty good,” said a voice tight with pain.
She glanced over her shoulder.He stood a few feet away, his legs braced and his expression grim beneath the shadow of his hat.He’d finished about half the flask, which probably explained how he’d managed to walk at all.Her heart swelled with remorse.Dammit, she should have known she was too softhearted to pull this off, especially when her target was taking his punishment with such good grace.
“If you’ll tell me where the medication is, I’ll get it.”
“No, let me.”She laid the spoon on a piece of aluminum foil, stood and walked over to the pile of gear.After rummaging through the saddlebag, she found the tin of Bag Balm and the liniment bottle.“Here,” she said, walking toward him.“It won’t work miracles, but it might make the ride out tomorrow more bearable.”
He flinched at the reminder that he’d be remounting Mikey in the morning.“Thanks.”Keeping the flask in one hand, he cradled the tin and bottle in his other arm while he hobbled back toward the fallen tree.
She watched him go and knew he’d never be able to manage the therapy alone.What had she been thinking?“T.R.,” she called, going after him.“Maybe I should ride for help.We could bring a helicopter in here, maybe even tonight if I hurry.”
He turned, his expression incredulous.“A helicopter?You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Look, you’ve proved you can take a beating, so why?—”
“Not on your life.”Teeth clenched, he eased back to the log and set the flask, the liniment and the Bag Balm on the ground next to him.“Would any self-respecting cowboy call Search and Rescue?”He took off his hat and mopped his damp forehead with his shirtsleeve.
“You’re not a cowboy.You’re a commodities trader from New York.”
He glanced up.“Even commodities traders have their pride, Freddy,” he said quietly.“Don’t take that away from me.”
“But you didn’t know what you were getting into!You don’t have to tough it out like some stereotypical cowboy.This is my fault, not yours!”
