Chapter 5
Chapter Five
B y five o’clock, T.R. wondered if he’d ever walk normally again.
By six, he wondered if he’d ever walk again, period.
And his feet weren’t the problem. He wasn’t a tenderfoot, he was a tenderass.
He envisioned Duane and Curtis lifting him from Mikey’s broad back with his legs frozen in a permanent bow.
He’d have to order a custom-made chair for his office in New York, one with inches of padding and a spacious enough seat to accommodate the new wide-open configuration of his thighs.
They’d climbed for most of the afternoon.
Cactus and sage had given way to something he recognized as belonging to the oak family and a type of evergreen with a fragrant bark, probably some sort of cedar.
He supposed it was beautiful, if he could only give a damn.
Who would have imagined that riding around the ranch could take this long?
Surely they’d have to turn back soon, although he didn’t relish the idea of riding downhill and trying to keep his aching private parts from sliding forward against the saddle horn.
He could hardly believe he’d begun this ride having sensual thoughts about the woman in front of him.
He couldn’t imagine ever using his bruised equipment again.
She’d not only crippled him, she’d ruined his future sex life.
The crisp jeans that had made him feel like such a stud this morning now felt like chainmail wrapped around his genitals in an imitation of a medieval chastity belt.
One image kept him going, one reward beckoned at the end of this torture trail. He pictured the Jacuzzi he’d seen beside the swimming pool, pictured himself being carried to it, eased into the water and left there for days. The image almost made him weep with longing.
He was so engrossed in his suffering that he didn’t notice Freddy had stopped on the trail and he nearly ran Mikey up Maureen’s backside. Mikey realized the problem, snorted and backed up a step.
Freddy swiveled in her saddle and smiled at him. “How are you doing?”
Dammit, he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing the truth. “Fine,” he said.
“Time has gone by so quickly this afternoon.” She gazed out across the mountain slope. “I doubt if we could make it back before dark, so I thought we’d just camp over there, against that cliff.”
He tried to clear the haze of pain from his mind. He could have sworn she’d said they were about to camp. No Jacuzzi. No bed. Sleeping on the ground. How could he do that if he couldn’t even get off his horse by himself? Would she notice if he quietly stayed on his horse and slept in the saddle?
“T.R.?”
He focused on her with effort. “What?”
“Are you okay?” She looked concerned.
He felt his machismo slipping. “Depends on your definition.”
“It has been a rather long ride, at that.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Follow me,” she said, a gentle note in her voice.
Mikey followed. T.R. had lost the ability to guide Mikey several hours ago.
“Stay there,” she said as she swung down and tied Maureen’s reins to an oak tree. “I’ll help.”
Pride asserted itself. “I’m fine,” he insisted, and in one brave movement hoisted his leg over Mikey’s rump. Somebody yelled, and as he stumbled to the ground, he recognized his own cry of pain. Freddy caught him before he went all the way down and lowered him to a seat on a fallen tree.
“Sit here,” she said. “I’ll set up camp.”
As if he had any choice. He sat and glared at Mikey, instrument of his undoing.
His thigh muscles throbbed, and the family jewels felt as if Mikey had kicked him dead center.
“Some friend you are,” he grumbled at the horse.
Mikey yawned, exposing big yellow teeth.
“You might have warned me that an all-day ride would turn me into a eunuch.”
“Maybe this will help,” Freddy said.
He gazed up, bleary-eyed, at the opened flask she extended. “What is it, hemlock?”
“Whiskey. I always carry some in my saddlebag. You never know when it’ll come in handy.”
“Oh, yeah, for when you have to dig out a bullet after a battle with the rustlers, right?” he said sarcastically.
She pulled the flask away. “If you’re going to be like that?—”
“No, please. I’d like some.” He accepted the flask and took a swig in what he hoped was a manly fashion. The whiskey was strong, at least eighty proof, and he welcomed its punch. He started to hand the flask back to her but she waved it away.
“Keep it. I’ll fix us some dinner.”
“I suppose you have to go out and shoot it first, this being the Wild West and all.”
She stood eyeing him, her hands on her hips. “You do have a wisecracking streak in you, McGuinnes.”
“It’s either that or hysteria. I thought I’d wisecrack for a while.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “You told me you could ride.”
He straightened as best he could. “I can,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “For brief periods.”
She covered her mouth, where he suspected a smile had broken through. Then she coughed into her fist. “Have a few more pulls on that flask, and when you feel ready, take off your pants.”
“Excuse me?”
“So you can massage some Bag Balm into your thighs,” she said, barely swallowing a chuckle.
“Bag Balm?”
“Aren’t you feeling a bit—uh—chafed?”
“What if I am?”
“This is a lanolin-based product. We use it on the cows’ udders to keep them soft and?—”
“My God.”
Tears of laughter brimmed in her eyes. “Believe me, it will help. And some liniment for your feet and knees will keep you from being so stiff in the morning.”
His eyes narrowed as a suspicion worked its way through his pain-clouded brain. “How come you’re so well equipped for this emergency?”
“Well—”
“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?”
“I suspected it might.”
“Is this some sort of greenhorn ritual?”
Her smile faded. “Not exactly. This land tests people, and that’s something you should know up front.”
“You test people, too, don’t you?”
“Maybe I do. But I meant what I said about appreciating the True Love with a ride like this. If you can manage to turn around, you might understand what I was talking about. The only way to really see it is by coming up here on horseback.”
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.