Chapter 24
STEVIE
A few days later, Stevie sat on the second lowest row of the wooden bleachers watching Mags show off her barrel racing chops.
She was wearing her now standard hat, jeans and T-shirt having shucked the fringes and finery not long after her mother had departed.
A dozen other guests all sitting on various levels around her were also watching the show.
Stevie had seen it several times already but it was riveting as ever. Clay’s sister’s skill with a horse was amazing and she could see why Mags had also made the professional circuit. And why her and Clay would make a great team in their new rodeo stock business.
Clay had talked about it a lot the past few days as he and Mags really got down to the brass tacks of how it all would work, and he’d been truly animated. Stevie loved hearing the passion in his voice, loved that he sounded like she did when she talked about writing songs.
It was also helpful to distract him from wanting to circle back to her stuff.
Somebody sat down beside her and Stevie absently shuffled over before realising it was Theresa. ‘Oh.’ She blinked at Clay’s mother. ‘Hey.’
She and Theresa hadn’t really had a conversation of any length since before John had discovered her and Clay at his cabin.
Stevie hadn’t exactly avoided her, and Theresa had been perfectly pleasant when they’d crossed paths, but Stevie still felt bad about all the sneaking around they were doing.
Because she wasn’t a sneaker and she hated that it might reflect badly on her in the eyes of Clay’s mom.
‘Is it okay if I sit here?’
‘Of course,’ Stevie assured even as she wondered if Theresa was about to quiz her on her intentions.
Neither of them said anything for a few minutes; they just watched Mags do her thing with her horse, their incredible bond on display as they circled the barrels without knocking them over.
The quick tight turns along with the speed and agility of the horse and Mags’s incredible balance made fascinating viewing.
Still, it looked like one wrong move by either horse or rider could end badly and she was reminded again of those pictures of Clay on the wall at The Corral.
‘Don’t you worry about them doing this… crazy stuff?’
The question tumbled out before Stevie could check it, but Theresa didn’t seem offended. In fact, she laughed and Stevie relaxed.
‘Do I wish that I could wrap them both in bubble wrap and send them both to work in a nice airconditioned office? Yes. Was I worried every day they were on the circuit that I’d get a phone call about a terrible fall?
Yes. And when that happened with Clay, I went through hell blaming myself for letting him get on the back of a horse, for teaching him to ride. But out here?’
She looked around at the sun-drenched landscape stretching beyond the yards, emotions flickering across her face as if she could see Clay and Mags as kids chasing after each other in the distance.
‘Everybody pitches in, so everybody rides. So it was about teaching them how to be safe and trusting in them that they knew their limits.’
Stevie nodded. ‘I guess. It just looks so… risky.’
‘Sure, but’ – she shrugged – ‘life’s a risk. And sometimes’ – Theresa’s smile was indulgent as her eyes landed back on Stevie – ‘the biggest risks pay the biggest rewards.’
Stevie wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning behind her words, but someone called her name from behind and Theresa looked over her shoulder and said, ‘Coming.’ But not before she gave Stevie’s legs a pat. ‘It’s been so nice having you here, Stephanie,’ she said. ‘Don’t be a stranger.’
She departed, and Stevie watched her go, trying to figure out if that was just a friendly compliment or a hidden message. Whatever it was, it reminded her that she only had four days left on the ranch – her flight was booked for Sunday – and that was suddenly very depressing.
A couple of hours later, Stevie was in the central hall of the stables, rubbing down one of the horses that had not long come in from a trail ride. She always volunteered to do the chore, enjoying it immensely, the soothing motion of brushing their hides almost meditative.
‘Hey,’ a low male voice purred in her ear, and she turned to see Clay standing behind her, a dappled grey horse in tow. She’d been so immersed in the job and the tease of a lyric floating around in her head that she hadn’t heard him approach.
‘Oh, hey,’ she greeted breathily, her pulse doing its usual giddy-up at the sight of him in his jeans and plaid shirt and hat. Looking around quickly, she could see there were too many people to sneak a sly kiss. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Gregory here has thrown a shoe so I’m just stabling him for Ivan to do after the others.’
Stevie laughed at the name. The horse looked like a Gregory. ‘Why don’t you…’ He lowered his voice as he tipped his chin at the nearby stall. ‘…join me.’
She glanced at the open door as Clay smiled and clicked at the horse to follow him. Which was when Mags came bustling towards her. ‘Stevie, what are you doing?’
Guiltily, she dragged her eyes away from Clay, who had disappeared with the horse into the stall. ‘I’m brushing down the horses.’
‘Okay, stop immediately. Ivan is here.’
Stevie frowned. ‘Okay?’ She knew that Ivan was scheduled today and had heard his van pull up about half an hour ago. But why was that important?
‘To replace some shoes.’
‘Uh huh?’ She glanced sideways surreptitiously, one crooked index finger in her peripheral vision, motioning her over. And she knew which she’d rather do. ‘I think,’ she said, returning most of her attention to Mags, ‘I might pass.’
‘Oh no.’ Mags grabbed her by the shirt. ‘Trust me, you’re going to want to see this.’
‘Um,’ Stevie said as Mags yanked on her sleeve like she was actually going to drag Stevie outside whether she wanted to go or not. ‘Okay… sure.’
Clay grabbed his chest dramatically as she shot him an apologetic look over her shoulder.
Suppressing a laugh, she followed Mags – who was moving at pace – outside.
Whatever the fuss was, it had better be worth it because Clay Calhoun definitely had seduction on his mind and, bearing in mind his mother’s talk about risk, Stevie had absolutely been up for a make-out session with him in the stall.
It soon became evident when they arrived outside why Mags had been so insistent about Stevie seeing Ivan.
She remembered the Ivan from those two nights at The Corral was a big guy, good looking in a rugged, broken-nosed, bar fight kinda way, and didn’t say a lot.
But, today, in his jeans and a leather apron – no shirt – the sun glinting off huge tanned biceps and shoulders the size of ham hocks as he stood hunched over a horse’s hoof, he was quite the spectacle.
And had drawn quite a crowd. He wasn’t saying anything but then, he didn’t need to…
‘Oh my,’ Stevie muttered under her breath. She may be totally into Clay Calhoun but she was still a woman. With a pulse. And farrier Ivan was a shot glass of testosterone.
‘What did I tell you,’ Mags murmured. ‘Aren’t you pleased you’re seeing this?’
Hell yes. Another big plus for ranch life. ‘Wait…’ Stevie frowned. She’d thought that Mags was into Dev? And vice versa. Even if the two of them seemed determined not to notice. ‘Do you fancy him?’
‘What?’ Mags looked at her like she’d lost her mind. ‘Of course not. The man barely speaks. But I have eyes, don’t I?’
She did. And so did Stevie – praise the Lord.
‘Hmm mmm,’ someone said from behind. ‘Now that is a fine figure of a man.’
With a prickling scalp, Stevie turned slowly around. ‘Mom?’
Stevie barely took in any of her mother’s chatter as they drove slowly from the yards to their cabin. They spoke every day anyway so none of it was news. Her grandmother was doing well and she and the agent were just about to lock in the tour dates.
Blah blah blah.
She was too preoccupied with how her mother’s surprise visit would impact spending her last few nights with Clay.
Sneaking out after her mom was asleep was a possibility.
Since Yolly’s death her mother took a sleeping tablet every night which generally ensured she had a sound sleep, but damn it – Stevie didn’t want to steal an hour or two here and there.
She was leaving in four days; she wanted as much time as possible.
Not sneaking in and out of his place in the dead of night like what they were doing was wrong.
They may have been keeping it on the down low but not because it was wrong.
‘Stephanie!’
Her mother’s sharp voice sliced into Stevie’s busy thoughts, and she realised they were pulled up at the cabin but not at the back where her loaner vehicle was parked – at the side where a cottonwood tree shaded the cabin.
‘I’m sorry.’ She forced herself to concentrate on her mom. ‘What did you say?’
Looking pointedly at Stevie’s finger, her mother said, ‘Where is your ring?’
A cold hand clutched Stevie’s stomach. Oh. No. This could not be happening. It wasn’t supposed to be happening. Her mom was not supposed to be here. Stevie was leaving on Sunday for Boston with the ring firmly back on her finger.
And a head full of memories that made a complete mockery of all that it stood for.
But Stevie refused to feel guilty. She knew plenty of guys and girls in that church pledge group who’d broken their promise on the regular but had still worn their rings. And what point was there in alerting her mother or causing her any anxiety?
‘It’s at the cabin,’ she said. It wasn’t but Stevie hoped that would be enough.
‘Yes but… why did you take it off? You’ve never taken it off.’
A tangle of lies chased through Stevie’s head. She’d kneaded a bunch of bread this morning at the bread-making demo and had removed it for hygiene reasons. It was grimy from all the dust. The harsher water out here was reacting with it, causing dermatitis.
But which one would be the most convincing?