Beyond the Broken Road, page 19
Maybe it was time to change the rules. Instead of turning toward the footsteps she heard approaching, she leaned into her handsome husband, saw his eyes widen with surprise as she put one arm around his waist, while the other reached up and with no gentle grasp pulled down his head.
With a sense of satisfaction, not caring what anyone thought, she had something to prove to everyone at this party and to Sam most of all. She smiled widely, brought his lips closer to hers, then reached up and pressed hers against his mouth. His mouth was wide with surprise, and before she could think more on it, she delved her tongue into its soft, wet warmth, as he had hers so long ago. She felt the impact through her whole body. He didn't put his arms around her, but his lips moved, his tongue mated with hers and when she stepped back, they were both breathing heavily. Her breasts felt heavy, her whole body on fire.
"What was that for?" he whispered.
"Did there have to be a reason?" With that, she spun on her heels and walked past the lieutenant on her way to find Margaret.
The lieutenant looked after her, then to Sam with an abashed smile. He held out one of his two glasses of lemonade. "Want one?"
The ride home in the buckboard after dark was filled mostly with Sandy's talk of the friends he'd talked to, the enjoyment he'd had, and his gratitude that Abby had insisted he come. Sam said little, and Abby wondered more than once what he was thinking, but if he was thinking anything, he didn't share it.
At the house, Abby went in while Sandy and Sam unhitched the buckboard. It was fifteen minutes later when he walked into the kitchen.
"Husbands and wives usually discuss an evening afterward," Abby said coming out of the darkness and surprising him sufficiently that for once his face showed it.
"Is the evening over?" He grinned wickedly as he put his arms around her.
"You tell me."
His smile was sensual and promising, his kiss equally so. Now that she knew what she wanted, she opened her mouth for his kiss, felt him exploring her warmth. She leaned more heavily into him, felt her breasts against his chest. She needed him throughout her whole body, all the way down to her toes.
His hands moved over her, first down her back, to her buttocks, cupping them, pulling her hard against him. She felt his hardness, knew what it meant. One of his hands slipped around front to cup her breast. She felt the nipple pucker and wanted him to do more. She sucked in a breath, wanting that touch, wanting it against her bare skin. But was this all she wanted? All she could have? She had to know.
"Did you have as bad a time at the Reimers' as you expected?" she forced herself to ask when all she really wanted was for those hands to keep exploring her body.
"It had its moments,” he said, nuzzling her neck. He needed a shave as usual at the end of the day. The bristle against her skin added to her excitement. She sighed.
"Like with Lieutenant Gardiner?”
She pushed off his hat as she ran her hands through his hair.
He looked ruefully down at the hat on the floor. "You know how much that Stetson cost?”
She heard the smile in his voice. "I'm sorry," she said. "Can I find any way to make it up to your hat?"
"I doubt it."
"I could pick it up and put it properly on its rack."
He shook his head. "Not a good idea because to do that, I'd have to let you go, and I don't want to do that."
She smiled, taking his hand into hers and nipping one finger. "You really had a good time?”
“It had its moments,” he repeated, his eyes teasing.
"Couldn't you see yourself living like that--like Ralph Reimer for instance?"
"Maybe for some men, that's all right, but for others, it won't work."
"And which ones are you?"
“Abby, quit trying to change what is. Life is how it is. Sometimes it’s too late to change.”
"You can’t believe it is for you. You are a young man. You can change what you want. You have to know you cannot go on as you are.”
"For a while."
“And then what?”
“There are no guarantees in life.”
She felt the passion draining from her body. “Why did you marry me, Sam? What did you want?”
“What do you think?”
“If it had been just sex, you’d have taken me the first night. You could have. I couldn’t have stopped you.”
"I don't rape women."
"We both know it wouldn't have been rape, not then or now."
"I did want you. Still do, but not if the terms are my pretending something I know isn’t so. I am who I am. Is that good enough for you or not?"
“Are you saying you might want a life with me? A forever kind of life?”
“If I did, would it change anything?”
She couldn’t answer that. She had never thought she’d stay with Sam, never imagined a real life here. Or had she? “Well, whatever I want,” she said, “it wouldn’t be for much of a life if you go riding off all the time to rustle other men’s cattle. Someday you will get shot or caught and then what?"
“I could go riding out in the hills here and have my horse fall and break my neck.”
“It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?”
She felt angry and disappointed. She had hoped so much that things would change. She had told herself this was all for the moment. In her heart, she had known from the beginning, from the time she had seen him in Tucson. She wanted more than she could ever have. It wasn't to be. He didn't want what she did. She felt so disappointed that tears welled up. She would not cry in front of him. She also couldn't risk making a baby with a man who wouldn't want forever with her. She wouldn't leave herself a child to raise alone.
“Good night, Sam.”
She wished he would say something to stop her, would promise her things that could make it work, but he didn’t. He just let her go.
The next morning was unnaturally quiet as Abby realized neither she nor Sam had anything to say to each other. They were tiptoeing around the things they should have said, perhaps out of fear that once said the words would be impossible to take back.
He was gone for half the day. When he returned, it was with a horned cow with a good-sized udder on a line tied to his saddle and a crate of squawking chickens over the pack horse. Abby ran outside to see the acquisitions, suddenly encouraged again. He had wanted to please her. He wouldn't have gotten the cow if he hadn't wanted their ranch to become their home. She had to believe that.
He stepped down from the saddle, his gaze steady on her.
She smiled up at him. "You remembered," she said, throwing her arms around him, receiving his hug with gratitude. They'd had their spat. Maybe now they could make up. She knew just how she wanted to make up.
"Kind of an odd present for a woman," he said, "but you did say you wanted them."
"Where did you get them?"
"I asked Reimer yesterday. He remembered a widow woman living near Harshaw that said she was getting rid of some. I didn't say anything because I didn't know if somebody else'd already bought them."
She smiled more broadly. "What's the cow’s name?"
The other men had come to see what Sam had brought home. There were a few guffaws as he said, "Tildy, but I expect you can call her whatever you want."
"I love her." She looked at the pretty face and then had a doubt. “Will those horns uh be dangerous?”
"Lady said not. She's got a nice personality, and they make it handy to hold onto." He grinned.
She looked at the full udder and thought of all the things that could be made with fresh milk-- butter, cream for coffee, ice cream. She only hoped Ollie knew how. Of course, now that she'd found recipe books, maybe she could figure it out for herself.
"You know how to milk her?" Sam asked, skepticism in his voice.
She nodded toward the pertinent end. "Well, I've never milked one before, but... I mean that is the right end, isn't it?"
Sam smiled again and looked toward the hands who'd gathered to watch the proceedings. "Any you boys know how to milk a cow?"
No one volunteered.
"How about you, Ollie?" Abby asked, looking at the skinny old man who was nearly holding his nose with disdain. "You know so much. Surely you've milked a cow."
He shook his head. "Cowboys don't milk cows," he retorted. "They rope them."
"But milk would mean butter... sauces... ice cream."
Ollie stared more uncertainly at the brown and white cow, now torn between dignity and the promise of eating riches. "Reckon it could be figured out," he said finally.
"I've seen it done," Sandy offered, the only other wrangler to risk remaining.
Sam shook his head. "It’ll take patching a few places, but you can keep her in the little pasture behind the barn, the one that has the creek running through it. Milk her in the barn."
"Is there a stanchion or something like that?" Abby asked, thinking vaguely such a thing would be required.
"Not too hard to rig one up."
"You brought me chickens too,” she said, walking over to look at the crate in which at least ten hens and a rooster complained. "What kind are they?"
Sam looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "How would I know? They're chickens."
Ollie looked in the crate. "Barred Rocks and Rhode Island Reds I’d say. Look to be young enough to lay good too, but it's going to take some doing to keep the critters around here from having chicken dinner before we get a single egg."
"What would bother them?" Abby asked.
"Skunks, badgers, weasels, foxes, you name it, and they'd like a good chicken dinner."
"That means I have to bring them in at night." There was some chortling at that from the men.
Sam headed for the barn.
"Where are you going?" Abby called after him, afraid he was going to dump this problem in her lap.
"I'm going to build a pen, some perches, and a few laying boxes," he said. He nodded toward Sandy and Ollie. "One of you stay to help her with the cow." When both started after him, Sam stopped them. “Ollie, you help Abby. Sandy, you come with me.”
Several hours later, Abby and Ollie had worked up a considerable sweat, but they had rigged up a stanchion, found a bucket and box to sit on. They had put Tildy out in the small pasture, which Joe had secured. The rope was still around her neck so that until she got used to being milked, she would be easy to catch.
All day Abby had heard hammering coming from the lower barn, but she'd not gone down to see how the work was coming. She was happy, pleased Sam had remembered what she had asked, that he was actually building a chicken coop. Her love for him was overwhelming her common sense. She knew she should keep her distance, that nothing had changed, but her heart wasn’t listening. Yes, he was a man who wore a gun as other men wore a watch fob, but that too could change. Anything was possible.
It was nearly dark when Abby and Ollie led Tildy into the barn and tied her to the stanchion. The horns had complicated it but not to the point of stopping progress. The moment of truth was upon her. The cow’s udder was so full it looked ready to pop. They couldn't delay. Abby had gathered some tall meadow grass to feed her while she was milked, hoping that would make her easier to handle.
The cow began chomping on the grass and waited; after all, she was the more experienced of the three. Unfortunately, all too soon, she would discover, she was the only experienced of the three.
Abby turned around and saw Sam standing against the barn door, one shoulder propped against it. He didn't say a word; his smile said it all. He was going to enjoy this, but he wasn't going to help. Sandy stood a few feet behind him, grinning widely.
Abby took a deep breath and moved the box to where she could reach the udder, trying to remember Ollie's instructions as to the proper hand motion to make milk come out. Stroke, squeeze... or was it squeeze stroke. Oh well, she'd learn by doing.
As soon as Tildy realized she was being handled by a rank amateur, which was the moment Abby touched her udder, the cow moved sideways, taking her attachments beyond Abby's reach. "We need to blockade her," Abby said to Ollie.
He went to stand on the opposite side and edged the cow toward Abby. For a moment, Abby thought she was going to go too far, but she stopped short of stepping on Abby's boots. She looked up grateful to see Sam had put his own weight into the effort of holding her in line.
"Did you warm up your hands?" he asked.
"Why?"
Sam laughed. "I thought everybody knew before you go touching any... uh udder, you need warm hands. Cold hands send... anybody jumping." Abby's face flushed as Ollie snickered and Sandy looked mystified.
Before Abby could start to rub her hands together, Sam said, "Actually, it's best you wash them with warm water right ahead of the milking. Cows are real susceptible to problems like hardening, infection."
She looked up at him, then ran for the house. It didn't take her more than a few moments to return with a small pail of warm, sudsy water.
"Good," Sam said. "You want to wash down the udder too. It encourages letting down milk."
"Letting it down?" Abby repeated as she tried her best with the udder. Tildy was now less than pleased with her technique.
When she looked up at Sam, she saw his wicked grin. He bent low and whispered, "Stroke her like you did me the other night. She'll give you just about anything you want then."
She returned his smile. "You didn't," she reminded him.
Again, Ollie chuckled, while Sandy was now the one who looked embarrassed.
Using a little surer touch and pretending she had Sam Ryker under that soapy water, Abby stroked down the udder and teats, washing each, then drying them with a small towel she'd tucked into her belt. "Now?" she asked, looking up at Sam.
"Seems like you've got a relationship going here," he said, smiling again in a way that played havoc with her stomach. "Give it a try."
She took hold of two of the teats, stroked down and squeezed. Nothing happened. She tried it, again and again, there was no milk in the pail. She looked up at Sam again.
"Remember the stroke. It's all in that stroke and squeeze," he said, his voice almost a purr.
“You know more about this than you’ve admitted.”
“Not about cows.”
As Sandy and Ollie chortled, Abby felt like kicking him, but she took a deep breath and again tried with the stubborn cow. This time she was rewarded with a spurt of milk. Not a large one, but proof that she could do it. She tried again, perfecting her technique as she worked and vowing Sam would pay for the way he was teasing her. She could feel his gaze on her back. It was as though she could feel his hands doing to her breasts as she was doing to the cow’s udder. Her body grew hot and heated at the thoughts. She knew he was enjoying this. Someday she'd get her revenge, and she knew just how she'd do it, then she grew more heated at where her thoughts were going. She was grateful Sam wasn't a mind reader.
When she heard Snake Smith make a muttered comment from the barn door, she glanced over to see that most of the men had come to watch the new acquisition--or more likely watch her make a fool of herself. Well, she decided, with growing confidence, this wasn't so bad. That was the moment when Tildy kicked out and knocked the bucket that was a quarter full onto the ground. Abby came as close to spouting profanity as she'd ever come. She glared up at Sam as though it was his fault.
"Did I mention you got to watch out for kicking?" he asked with a grin.
"Thanks," she growled, righting the bucket and trying again, this time keeping one eye on her hands to make sure she was getting the milk where it belonged, but the other watching the cow's back leg, ready to jump up with the bucket. She did not know if Tildy did it deliberately or was innocently restless, but it happened twice more, both times Abby saved the milk.
Finally, with a bucket almost full, Abby sighed with relief when she realized there was no more milk in the udder. She looked up at Sam. "Is that it?"
He nodded. "A little wash down at the end is nice," he said with that teasing smile, "lotion, back rub, and some sweet words are always good."
She glared at him, while Ollie chortled.
"I'll leave the back rubbing to you," she said, taking her bucket and heading for the house. "I think I should do something with the milk.
"Hey, you got to let Tildy here out of the stanchion and put her in the field," Sam called after her.
"You're the great lover," she called back, loud enough for everyone anywhere near the barns to hear, "you do it. After that kind of treatment, she'll follow you anywhere. I know I would!"
CHAPTER 16
Sam watched Abby walked away, the sway of her hips in those boy’s pants a teasing temptation. He snapped at the men to return to work as Ollie unfastened the cow’s head from the makeshift stanchion and led her out to pasture. Sam watched, leaning his arms on the fence by the barn, his thoughts going in circles.
“What you going to do about it?” Ollie asked when he walked back.
Sam didn’t bother to ask what he meant. "What can I do?"
"You could settle down here and make a go of this ranch."
"You know I can't do that."
"Why not? You wouldn't be the first man to walk with the whirlwind a few years, then settle down and live like real folks."
"It wouldn't work."
"You figure you'd get bored?" Ollie asked.
"It's not that. It's just--" Sam had no answer for Ollie any more than he had for Abby or himself. Everything had begun so gradually for him-- one step after another. All so easy and so irredeemable.
When he had first met Abby, he had thought… but only for a moment that maybe there was a way with her. He'd taken her with him, hoping for that. It hadn't been taking into account who he was-- all he had been. After a while, he had come to see there was no way out. If it wasn't Mexico, it'd be somewhere else. He would keep on until he stepped into a hail of bullets. He should have never brought Abby to the ranch.
Snake came up and watched the cow walk toward the little stream. "Milk cows. Ice cream. You're getting soft," he ridiculed.
