Chapter Twenty-Two
Miles stretched his back, wincing. The next time he encountered an actor who claimed he was in great shape for a physically demanding role, he was going to send him here for an audition. Make him put in a week or two of this, and the truth would out.
While none of the tasks he’d taken on were individually overwhelming, there was seemingly no end to them.
One after the other, from offloading bags of feed to stacking hay bales to lugging heavy gear to repair a fence, they all coagulated to tell him he wasn’t in nearly as solid a physical condition as he’d thought.
In fact, most of the people he knew back home would struggle just to keep up with Riley.
She never seemed to stop, going from one task to another with the only downtime, if you could call it that, coming when they had to drive one of the ranch trucks like now, out to fix a downed section of fence.
He never thought he’d be so glad just to sit in a vehicle.
And if she ever again brought up that she was older than him, he was going to blast her with this truth.
That was after, of course, complimenting her on the various clever solutions she’d come up with for basic ranch tasks.
She’d explained the level regulator she’d rigged up on the water trough, to keep it full but not overflowing, without constant monitoring.
And the floor pressure plates in the barn, after one of the horses had figured out how to unlatch the stall door and wander over to the feed bin.
“We almost lost him, he ate so much sweet feed,” she’d told him. “I didn’t ever want to go through that again.”
So she’d solved the problem.
And the seemingly endless work continued.
Even lunch was on the run, although he had to admit the tortilla-wrapped burritos were handy for that, and very tasty.
She’d handed him one as they’d left the house, and the aroma had awakened his stomach in a big way.
He’d downed it before they driven a mile in the pickup full of wire and a couple of fence posts and all the necessary tools.
“Valencia’s,” was all Riley said, as if the name explained all.
At his blank expression she added, “The best Tex-Mex restaurant in the county, and one of the best in the state. Owned by a Tejano family who’s been here since the last stand.
” She smiled suddenly before adding, “And whose manager is now married to Chief Highwater’s brother, Sean. ”
He let out a chuckle as he gave a wondering shake of his head. “This place is truly an intricately woven, interconnected web.”
“A very big family, in a way,” Riley said. Then, giving him a sideways glance, she said, “Not like where you live.”
“No. Not at all. I mean, my work is like that in a way, but the city? No. Too big, too many people.” He thought he saw her shoulders tense, as if against a shudder. “Can’t imagine living like that?” he asked.
“People on top of each other, no open space, just concrete and steel? I can marvel at it, from a distance, but no, I could never live like that.” She grimaced. “Ask my ex-fiancé.”
“Oops,” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Some guy had been lucky enough to get her to agree to marry him, and he’d blown it? Idiot.
“His choice,” she said. “And better that he decided then than a couple of hours later, after the wedding.”
He blinked. “Wait…he broke up with you on your wedding day?” He saw by her expression it was true. He swore under his breath. Then let it out. “What the hell justified that?”
She shrugged. And for the first time he realized how irritating that kind of non-answer could be.
But after a moment she said simply, “He never bothered to tell me that he expected me to leave Last Stand and make a life in Dallas. Because who on earth would want to stay in this little backwater when they could live in a vibrant big city?”
“But this has been your family home for generations,” he protested.
She gave him a surprised look then. As if she hadn’t expected him to get that. “I don’t blame him anymore. Actually I never really did blame him, not for what he wanted. Some people are born for city life, just like I was born for this life. It was more his timing that made me furious.”
“You’re a lot more forgiving than I would be. He should have known.”
She shrugged. “He thought he did.”
“You mean he assumed and never bothered to ask?”
This time she smiled at him. The anger whose source he wasn’t even sure of faded away. “Pretty much.”
“Idiot.” He said it out loud this time.
“Some people just can’t see the appeal,” she said.
“They’re blind, then,” he answered.
She gave him a different kind of smile then, although he couldn’t put a name to the change.
They went on a little farther, then she slowed the truck and he could see up ahead the gap in the fence.
One post was down and another sagging, pulled by the wire.
It was an old-style fence—he’d seen newer stuff at the Baylor place—but this was a long, remote stretch and he couldn’t imagine what it would cost to replace all this.
Jackson had told him how so many ranches ran on a shoestring, and that it was only the combination of Nic’s reputation as a trainer and her father’s skill at breeding Angus cattle that had enabled them to keep going. Others weren’t doing so well, and every day was a battle.
As the truck slowed, he looked around. Wondered what it cost to keep a place this size going, and how Riley and her dad managed it alone. Or if they did. More likely they were one of the ones Jackson had been talking about, the ones who were struggling.
“This is the longest border between us and the Baylors,” she said as she parked the truck. “We have a deal, that we split the cost of repairs, and alternate who puts in the time and work.”
“Sounds…neighborly.”
“They’re the best kind of neighbors.”
It took them a couple of hours, but by the time the fence was solid again he felt good.
There was something about seeing the result of your labor right there in front of you, and right after you’d finished, that was immensely satisfying.
And he’d done more on this one than just hand over tools.
He’d dug, settled, tightened, and so felt truly a part of it.
“Thanks,” Riley said. “That went a lot quicker than if I’d had to do it alone.”
He wondered how she would have managed that, but didn’t ask. It didn’t seem like a wise thing, to question her capabilities. By now he knew better than to ever underestimate this woman.
When they were done loading the truck back up and had climbed into the cab, Riley gave him a rather tentative look.
“What?” he asked.
She hesitated, then said, “When I’m out this far, I usually head on to the overlook.”
“The overlook?” he asked, then it hit him where she must be talking about.
“Then let’s go. I’d love to see it again.”
And again. And again.
The light was beginning to change as they got out of the truck at the base of the rise. There were enough clouds today to keep the temperature at around sixty, average for a Texas December, and it was comfortable making their way up to the bench, as Riley called it.
“Nic said something about storms coming in the next few days?” he said as they sat down.
She nodded. “Could be some nasty weather. That’s why I wanted to get the fence done now.”
He should have known. She always seemed to be thinking ahead. Preparing now, to avoid trouble later. Just like Jackson’s character, Austin Holt, did. So at least he hadn’t been far off on that.
“I should thank you,” he said as he stared out over the rolling hills, so beautifully rendered in that painting on his wall at home.
“For what?”
“Letting Kyle Rafferty paint this. And often enough that he could still do it from his mind’s eye when he was far away.”
“So it could inspire you from a thousand miles away?”
“Yes.” He gave her a sideways look. “And a million miles in outlook.”
She smiled at that. They lapsed into silence.
Oddly, sitting here with her quietly didn’t bother him.
He didn’t feel the need to fill that silence with jabber, or think up something, anything to talk about.
It was fine—better than fine—just being here, looking out over the vista Kyle Rafferty had captured so well in that painting at home.
He wondered if she’d charged the artist for access to this vista he’d captured so well.
Somehow he doubted it, even if it would have helped them financially.
But that she’d given him permission made that idea dart into his mind once more, tugging at him.
And only the fact that he was enjoying this quiet peace so much kept him from broaching the subject right here and now.
But he could already tell that eventually he would, because this wasn’t the flit in and out kind of idea that occurred once and then was gone forever.
And if indeed the Garretts were struggling, it could be good for everyone concerned.
In the end, it was his stomach that broke the silence, with an embarrassingly audible growl.
“Uh-oh,” Riley said, her tone clearly teasing. “Somebody’s hungry.”
“Somebody’s not used to the kind of work you do here,” he admitted.
“But you kept up.”
“Barely,” he admitted with a wry smile.
“You did fine. If you were applying, I’d hire you.”
He blinked. His smile changed, all self-mockery vanishing. “You make me wish I was.”
The silence returned for a long, drawn-out moment.
But this silence was different. An edge had come into it, a sort of tension he hadn’t felt in a long time.
And he realized with a jolt the only thing that was stopping him from trying to kiss her was fear.
Fear that she’d hate it, and him, and order him off her ranch with a “don’t come back” thrown in for emphasis.
He wasn’t used to this. Or he was out of practice, given he’d sworn off some time ago, after deciding there wasn’t a woman in Hollywood he would trust not to be after something else, something he, with his recent string of successes, could provide her.
Riley Garrett couldn’t give a damn about who he was back there, because she didn’t want or need anything he could offer. Here, all he could offer was what he’d already given, some basic manual labor.
I’d hire you.
That made it pretty clear, didn’t it? That’s how she saw him—as somebody helping out.
“I think you need to try a full-on Valencia’s meal,” Riley said suddenly. “Let’s go.”
He drew back slightly, startled. Had she just asked him out to dinner?
You’re not that lucky, Flint.
He gave an inward shake of his head. He’d always spent a lot of time—way too much, Swiffer said—figuring out the motivation of characters.
But right now he felt lost, because he had no idea what had motivated her to make that offer.
He did, however, know exactly why he accepted.
Because no way in hell was he going to turn down the chance to extend this time spent with her.
“I need to stop by Yippee Ki Yay, anyway,” she went on, casually enough to tamp down his response to the invitation a bit. “Dad’s new boots, his Christmas present, came in.”
“Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
As he was cleaning up from the day’s work, he found himself wondering if perhaps the chance would arise for him to broach the subject that had been nibbling at him for some time now.
It seemed so logical, so reasonable, so beneficial to both sides.
It would help him, placate a lot of people, and judging by what he’d heard of the financial strain of running a big ranch, it would help her, too.
And the fact that it would mean you seeing a lot more of her doesn’t play into it at all, right?
He grimaced at that annoying inner voice that had become all too active since his arrival in Last Stand and, with a rather foul mental exclamation, told it to shut up.
It was a good thing that inner voice didn’t have a face, because if it did, he knew it would be smirking.