Big Sky Romance Collection Page 7

  “Don’t remember much about my mom. Wish I did.”

  Abigail heard the sadness in her tone. “You were so young.” She hesitated to ask, but it had to be done. “What happened to her?”

  Maddy shrugged. “It was an accident. Dad doesn’t like to talk about it. Makes him sad.”

  “That’s understandable.” Probably guilt. Abigail shifted gears. “What’s your favorite memory of her?”

  Frown creases formed on Maddy’s forehead, and she was silent so long Abigail wondered if she’d answer. “I guess I don’t have one,” she said finally.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Maddy. She’d be very proud of you.”

  “You think?”

  “Any parent would be. You’re a smart, strong girl. I lost my dad too, but I was older than you. Fifteen.”

  “How’d he die?”

  “Heart attack. It was sudden and scary. No time for good-byes or anything. I used to write my dad notes to say things I wished I’d told him.”

  Maddy’s ponytail swung as she looked at Abigail. “Never thought of that.”

  “It helped. He used to leave me notes all the time, on my pillow or in my gym bag.” Abigail smiled, remembering. “Sometimes he wrote something serious like I’m proud of you, baby girl, and other times he’d stick a silly note on my pillow like Don’t forget to brush your teeth, even though I was fourteen and didn’t need reminding. I still have the last note he left me. I wish I’d kept them all.”

  “What’s it say?”

  Abigail envisioned the white square paper, a smiling red apple caricature in the corner, probably Christmas stationery from a student.

  “Oops, sorry,” Maddy said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “I don’t mind. It says Win one for the Gipper. Love, Dad. That’s a saying from an old movie we used to watch together. I had a championship volleyball game that afternoon. He never got to see it.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Abigail leaned forward as they started up a grassy hill. “I have good memories. He taught at my school, so I got to see him a lot.”

  “What grade?”

  “Fifth.”

  “That’s what I just finished!”

  “He would’ve loved your curiosity.”

  “Miss Greta says I’m nosy.”

  Abigail laughed. “It’s a fine line, I guess.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. I like it, and you can ask me anything you want. The worst I can say is ‘None of your business.’”

  “You wouldn’t say that.” Maddy’s eyes teased.

  “You’re right, I wouldn’t.” Trinket rocked her from side to side as they climbed the hill. The leather saddle creaked under her, and Abigail tightened her hands on the reins. “We going somewhere in particular?”

  “Toward the Yellowstone River. It’s pretty there, and we might even see Dad. I heard him tell Mr. Pee Wee he’d be in the red barn meadow—that’s just over that ridge.”

  Abigail had a feeling the whole ride had been about catching a few minutes with Dad. She hoped for Maddy’s sake they caught up with him.

  “What did you do yesterday after church?” Abigail asked.

  “Went to town for supplies, then over to Uncle Dylan’s. He owns the Circle D over that way.” She pointed back toward town, then turned to Abigail, her eyes twinkling. “He’s sweet on you.”

  “He doesn’t even know me.”

  “I heard him tell Dad your legs go clean up to your neck.” Her giggle sounded every bit the eleven-year-old. “That’s silly.”

  Abigail felt warmth flood her face. “That is silly.”

  “Dad told him his eyeballs are going to get him into hot water. What’s that mean, anyway?”

  Abigail grinned. “I think it means he likes the ladies too much.”

  They rode awhile in silence, and Abigail was glad Maddy dropped the subject. She wondered how much Dylan knew about Wade’s past. The fact that he was attracted to her could work in her favor. As quickly as the thought appeared, she cringed. Using someone’s feelings was wrong on so many levels. But she needed to question him one way or another.

  The hill never seemed to end, and it was only one among dozens. She wondered how cowboys kept track of their whereabouts on thirty thousand acres without a GPS.

  Awhile later they crested another hill, and Abigail arched her back. She was going to find a whole new set of muscles in the morning. The view from the top, however, was worth it. The river meandered through the pasture, rippling and turning, its banks shaded by tall leafy trees and towering evergreens. Wildflowers dotted the meadow with vibrant reds and yellows.

  “We’re here,” Maddy said.

  “Wow, it’s beautiful.” Abigail scanned the horizon as they began the descent. “Where’s the red barn?”

  “Oh, it’s long gone. They just call it that ’cause there used to be a red barn here. Hey, there’s Dad!” Maddy nudged Destiny, and the girl and her horse went sailing down the hill at a pace that made Abigail’s heart skip a beat.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she told Trinket. But the horse continued her plodding steps downhill, following Destiny without direction. It might be dinnertime by the time they reached the bottom, but at least she’d be in one piece.

  She watched Maddy racing toward her dad, who hadn’t spotted her yet. Abigail’s body swayed to and fro with Trinket’s steps. She was getting the hang of this. She held her reins to one side like she’d seen in the movies. Oh yeah. She was good.

  The next moment Trinket hit a hole, flinging Abigail forward in the saddle. She gripped the reins against the horn, brought her legs in. Her feet thumped against Trinket’s side, knocking twice as Trinket regained her footing. Abigail’s left foot slipped from the stirrup.

  Trinket took the nudge as some kind of signal. Her hooves dug in and she picked up speed. Abigail leaned forward, hung on to the reins, the mane, anything she could grasp. Her knees clamped onto the horse’s side.

  “Stop!” she called. No, not stop. “Halt! Stay!”

  Her body jolted against the saddle. She was slipping. The noises Maddy demonstrated, what were they? She made a clucking sound. Trinket didn’t respond. She made a kissing sound.

  And Trinket’s speed increased. They raced down the hill. “Noo-ooo-ooo-ooo!” The jarring broke her word, was breaking her breath, her rear end. Gentle, my foot.

  Air rushed past Abigail, tore at her hair. She slipped sideways. She was going to fall. She was going to be trampled. She was going to die on her relaxing trip to Montana. Not from complications of hypertension, but from sheer stupidity.

  She slipped further, tilting, bumping, her one foot still caught in the stirrup. She had visions of dangling from the stirrup while Trinket raced merrily along.

  Jump or fall? Those were her options now. A braver soul might choose the first, but she clung to the shred of hope that neither would happen. That she could somehow hang on until the horse stopped.

  One slip, tipping her crazily to the side, relieved her of that notion. She was going down. She shook her foot free of the stirrup as gravity had its way.

  Abigail extended her arms, hoping to break her fall. She heard hooves thudding the ground. So close. Please, God!

  The next jolt made love pats of the earlier ones. Her body thudded on the ground, her head slammed into the hard earth. How could something so soft-looking be so hard? That was her last thought before darkness closed in.

  11

  Wade nudged the stray Hereford from the riverbank, through the wooded copse, and toward the hill where the others gathered. The sun was getting higher in the sky, and the cows had stopped to graze. Soon they wouldn’t budge, but the meadow was just over the ridge.

  “Dad!” Maddy approached on Destiny, a smile stretching across her face. The sun gleamed on her mahogany hair in copper sparkles. Destiny neighed as they neared, then Maddy reined her in.

  Wade frowned, looking around. “You didn’t come out here alone.”

&nb
sp; “Abigail’s with me.” She pointed to the ridge where his dun mare was lumbering down the slope. Abigail leaned back in the saddle, tense.

  “Can we help you awhile?” Maddy asked.

  “Sure.” Wade removed his hat and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “You can help me get them up the hill.”

  He heard a muffled scream and followed the sound across the valley and up the hill.

  Trinket was trotting down the slope, and Abigail flopped around in the saddle like a rag doll.

  Son of a gun.

  “What the heck’s she doing?” He nudged Ace forward. “Stay here, Maddy,” he called over his shoulder.

  The mare was half a mile away, and Abigail clearly had no control of the horse. He hoped he could reach her in time. Even as he had the thought, Trinket spurted forward like she’d shifted gears. He watched Abigail keeling to the side and felt a dread he hadn’t felt since he’d pitched head over heels two summers ago. That had ended with two broken ribs and a fractured shoulder.

  “Pull back!” he called, but the wind snatched his words.

  Abigail’s foot was free of the stirrup, he could see that now, and she caught air, slipping, slipping. Help her, Lord.

  He watched helplessly as she flew from the saddle. Her arms stretched out. She cleared Trinket’s hooves, then hit the ground hard. Bounced and rolled to a stop. Trinket galloped past Wade, and he let her go.

  He raced toward Abigail’s still form and dismounted before Ace reached a stop. She was facedown in the long grass, her limbs sprawled. No odd angles, thank God.

  “Abigail.” He went to his knees, reluctant to touch her for more than one reason. The woman’s stillness weighted his gut. “Abigail, you okay?” What if she’d hit her head on a rock? Broken her neck?

  Another image flashed through his mind, a different time and place, another lifeless body. He pushed the image back where it came from, removed his glove, reached toward Abigail’s neck. He forced himself to take her pulse, realizing last time he’d done this he’d found nothing but cold, stillness.

  Abigail’s skin was warm, smooth. Please, God. He gulped, his fingers finding the artery and stopping. A slow steady pulse beat against his fingers. His own heart seemed to skip a beat in response.

  Abigail moaned. Her hand flinched at her side.

  “Don’t move.”

  Despite his instruction, her hand inched toward her side.

  “Hold still.” Her hair hung in her face, and he itched to brush it aside. He clenched his hand into a fist.

  Her eyes fluttered open. “What—what happened?”

  “Took a spill. Lie still. Tell me what hurts.”

  “Everything.”

  Still had a sense of humor. “Good. Means you’re not dead.”

  Nearby, Maddy dismounted Destiny and approached. “Is she okay?” Her voice wobbled.

  “I’m fine,” Abigail mumbled into the grass.

  Sure she was. “What hurts?” Wade asked again.

  “My head.” She closed her eyes, wincing.

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing serious, I don’t think. Can I move now? I have grass up my nose.”

  “Go ahead.”

  As she rolled, Wade noted a knot already rising on her forehead, scrapes on her cheek.

  Her hand covered her eyes in slow motion. “Turn off the lights.”

  He set his hat on her head, careful to avoid the knot. “I think you lost consciousness.”

  “Mmm.”

  She probably had a concussion. He should check her pupils, which meant he’d have to touch her. Couldn’t be helped. “Need to check your pupils.”

  “They’re still there.”

  “Wise guy.” Wade held open one eye and watched it react to the light. Her eyes were mossy green with flecks of amber. Not that he noticed. He checked the other, and pulled back as soon as the task was completed. “Think you’ll live.”

  Dirt and grass clung to her cheeks. He wasn’t going to be the one to brush it away.

  Maddy went to her knees beside Abigail. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I shouldn’t have ridden off without you.” Tears and guilt glimmered in her eyes.

  “My fault,” Wade said. “Guess Trinket’s not as steady as I thought.”

  “No,” Abigail said. “I—I think I gave her a signal accidentally— and then I couldn’t remember your instructions. I should’ve listened better.”

  “Feel like sitting up?” Wade asked.

  “What if she broke something?” Maddy asked.

  “Nothing broken.” Abigail pushed herself up, wincing as she came upright. “See?” The angry knot on her forehead bulged.

  Wade had to admire her tenacity. He knew from experience her head was ringing. “Dizzy?”

  Her gaze bounced off Maddy. “No.”

  “Liar,” he whispered. Inside, he shrank. There was no way he could let her ride back alone. She could pass out. Another fall wouldn’t do, and she couldn’t ride back with Maddy. The girl wasn’t strong enough to keep her on the horse if she blacked out.

  “Maddy, get Trinket.”

  His daughter scurried away, and Abigail felt the lump on her head, knocking his hat to the ground in the process.

  Wade retrieved it and put it on. “How’s that head?”

  “Beating like a jungle drum.”

  “Need to get some ice on that bump. Sure nothing else hurts? Move your arms around, wiggle your fingers.”

  She followed his instructions, still wincing against the light.

  “Can you stand?” Gritting his teeth, he took her hands and helped her to her feet. She was light as a reed and twice as pretty in her formfitting jeans. Wade scolded himself for noticing. Just because Dylan went all gaga over a pair of long legs was no reason he had to go there.

  Abigail took a tentative step forward. She was as unsteady as a foal. She wasn’t riding alone.

  Wade took her elbow and guided her toward Ace. “We’ll take mine.”

  Abigail eyed Ace skeptically. “Yours is further from the ground than Trinket. Do I really have to go up there?”

  “Unless you want to sleep out here.”

  “No thanks. The ground is harder than it looks.”

  “So’s your head, apparently.”

  She sent him a mock glare.

  “You’ll be fine. Ace is steady as a rock.” He stopped in front of Ace. All right, Ryan, buck up. He reached out and scooped Abigail into his arms.

  She gasped. One arm flew around his shoulder, and her other hand clutched his shirtfront. “You could’ve warned me.”

  Her hair smelled like sunshine and flowers. Her curves fit into him like she belonged there.

  You could’ve warned me.

  The smell of her, the feel of her, made him miss all the things he could never have. Wade set his jaw and placed her gently in the saddle. The moment he released her, his empty arms—who was he kidding?—his empty heart, complained.

  Thoughts like that’ll get you nowhere fast, Ryan.

  “I can’t reach the stirrups,” Abigail said.

  “Don’t need to. Scoot forward and make room.” He put his foot in the stirrup.

  “For what?”

  Swinging his leg over, he settled behind Abigail.

  “Oh.” She squirmed forward, but only got so far. She finally settled in the cradle of his thighs in a way he found most disturbing. Can’t be helped. Just this one time. Be over before you know it.

  He reached around Abigail for the reins, then nudged Ace forward and took Trinket’s reins while Maddy mounted Destiny.

  “Go slow,” he told his daughter.

  “I second that.” Abigail white-knuckled the horn. She was stiff as a barn door.

  Even though she leaned forward, the heat of her body seeped through his clothes. The sweet smell of her teased his senses. He leaned back, determined to think of something else. Something less soft and curvy. Something that didn’t smell so good and feel so right.

  Instead of swaying with A
ce’s movement, Abigail fought it. She was going to be in worse shape than she already was if she rode home that way.

  “Relax.” His breath stirred her hair. “I won’t let you fall.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Despite her words, her shoulders slowly dropped and she sank into the curve of his chest.

  Wade gritted his teeth. You asked for it, Ryan. He was thankful he held Trinket’s reins in one hand, because the urge to wrap his arms around her was as compelling as it was absurd. What was wrong with him?

  Then again, what did he expect when he’d been without a woman so long? Hadn’t so much as touched one since Lizzie.

  But it was more than that. He wasn’t that shallow, and Abigail wasn’t just any woman. In the short week he’d known her, he’d come to appreciate her. She was considerate and patient, and he liked her self-deprecating humor. She somehow seemed strong and vulnerable at the same time. And she was completely unaware of her feminine charms.

  He hoped the thudding of Ace’s hooves covered the thumping of his heart. Last thing he needed was his nanny thinking he was interested. ’Cause he wasn’t. Not a bit.

  The ride home was long and arduous. The word torture came to mind, but he tossed it out, refusing to admit he was so bothered by Abigail’s proximity. When the house came into sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. Almost there.

  He pulled Ace’s reins as they drew up to it, then dismounted. The instant he left the saddle, a weight he didn’t care to define settled in his midsection.

  “Maddy, take the horses.” He handed off Trinket, and his daughter led the mare toward the barn.

  “Your turn,” he said to Abigail.

  “I got it.” She slipped down until she could reach the stirrup and swung her leg over.

  Wade held her steady at the waist until she was on her feet, refusing to admit his touch might’ve been unnecessary.

  “Thanks.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  The knot on her forehead had swelled and colored. “Get some ice on that.”

  “I will.” She turned toward the house, steady enough.

  “You get nauseated or have blurry vision, tell Greta.”

  Abigail started to nod, then checked the motion.