Date with a Cowboy: Iron Cowboy / In the Arms of the Rancher / At the Texan's Pleasure

“He didn’t touch his supper last night. He wouldn’t eat today, either. Tony thinks he’s worried about you. So we brought him home with us.” Gently he lifted the battle-scarred old marmalade tomcat out of the basket and placed him on the bed with Sara.

Morris opened one green eye, butted his head against Sara affectionately, and went right back to sleep.

“Tony’s bringing the litter box. We can put it in your bathroom,” Jared said disgustedly.

She cuddled Morris while he was in the mood. “He didn’t try to bite you …? Oh!”

He displayed a hand liberally covered with colorful plastic bandages.

“I’m really sorry,” she began.

“I had an old hunting dog I was fond of,” he said gruffly. “He died last month at the age of fourteen years.” He shrugged. “They’re like family.”

She managed a tiny smile. “Yes.”

He heard Tony coming down the hall. “I hope we got the right things.”

Tony came in grinning and put down a suitcase on the chest at the foot of Sara’s bed. “Here’s your stuff. I’ll bring the litter box when I come back. He’s nice, your cat.”

“Well, of course you’d think he was nice,” Jared muttered. “He didn’t sink his fangs into you!”

“He’s got good taste,” Tony defended himself.

“Good taste the devil, he knows that you’ve eaten cats!” Jared shot back. “He was probably afraid you’d serve him up for lunch if he bit you!”

Tony, noting Sara’s expression, scowled. “It was only one cat,” he pointed out. “And we were all starving. It was a very old and very tough cat. Nobody liked it,” he added, trying to hit the right note.

Sara was all eyes. “Where were you?” she asked, aghast.

“Somewhere in Malaysia,” Tony said easily. “Mostly we ate snakes, but sometimes you got no choice, especially when the snakes can outrun you.” He noted Sara’s expression and stopped while he was ahead. “I’ll just go get that litter box.”

“You’d never be able to eat a snake he cooked,” Jared muttered when Tony was in the hall. “He can’t make anything if it doesn’t go well with tomato sauce.”

“I heard that!” Tony called back. “And snakes go great with tomato sauce!”

Sara smiled despite the rough time Jared had given her. He and Tony were a great act together. But she sensed undercurrents. And she thought both men were wearing masks, figuratively speaking. She wondered what they hid.

She finished her dinner and Jared still hadn’t said another word.

“This was very nice,” she said when she finished her last sip of milk and was pushing the rolling cart away from the bed. “Thanks.” She eased back onto the bed, grimacing as the stitches pulled, and drew old Morris close to her. “He doesn’t move much these days,” she said as she stroked the purring old tomcat. “I’ve never been sure how old he is. I don’t think I want to know.” She looked up at Jared. “I would have told you that he doesn’t like being picked up, if I’d known you planned to bring him over here.”

“Well, the minute Tony picked him up he started purring.”

She hid a smile. “I’ll bet animals follow Tony around.”

He thought of a few women he and Tony had come across in their travels. “It isn’t just animals,” he said thoughtfully.

She stroked Morris again. “Your lawyer called.”

He hesitated. “Max?”

She nodded.

“What did she want?”

She was weighing honesty against peace on earth. Peace on earth won. “She just wanted to tell you something. She said she’d call back.”

He frowned. “Was that all she said?” he asked with visible suspicion. “No comments about your presence here?”

The blush gave her away.

“I thought so,” he said. “She’s good at what she does, but she bores easily and she likes new experiences. She can’t resist setting her cap at every presentable male client who comes along. She’s already gone through three husbands and several lovers.”

Including you? she wondered, but she didn’t dare say it out loud.

He watched her stroking the cat and it reminded him, for some reason, of his grandmother. “My father’s mother loved cats,” he recalled. “She had six at one time. Then they began to get old and pass on. The last one she had was a yellow tabby, sort of like Morris. When she died, he stopped eating. We tried everything. Nothing worked. He settled down in the sun without moving and died three days later.”

“And they say animals don’t feel emotion,” she murmured absently.

“Everything feels. Even plants.”

She looked up, grinning. “Did you see that show where they put plants in little greenhouses …”

“… They yelled and praised one group, ignored another group and played classical and rock music to two other groups,” he continued, his green eyes twinkling.

“And the plants that grew biggest were the ones bombarded with hard rock.”

He chuckled. “If I thought that would work on hay, I’d have loudspeakers set up in the fields.” He shook his head. ‘First we had drought for a year in Oklahoma, now we’re having floods. The weather is no friend to the rancher this year, either.”

“Our dry fields could sure use some of your floods,” she agreed.

The conversation ended. He was tired and half out of humor. She was getting over surgery.

“You need your rest,” he said.

“Thanks,” she called after him. “For bringing Morris.”

“What’s a little blood between friends?” he mused, holding up his scratched hand. “Sleep well.”

“You, too.”

But she didn’t sleep well. She had violent dreams, just as she had as a child. There was something about this house, this atmosphere, that reminded her of all she’d lost. Guns shooting. Men yelling. Fires burning. The plane almost crashing. And then her mother’s fury at Grandad, her accusations, her sudden bizarre behavior. The anger and rage in her mother never abated. Sara was left with nobody except Grandad to look after her. Her mother had destroyed herself, in the end. It had started out as a grand adventure with a noble purpose. It ended in bloodshed and death.

Sara pulled Morris closer to her in the big bed, wiping angrily at the tears. She hated going to sleep. She wondered if there would ever be a night when she’d sleep until morning and there would be no more bad dreams.

She touched her head where the faint indentation marked the most tragic part of her young life. It was under her thick blond hair, and it didn’t show. But Sara felt it there. It was a constant reminder of how brief life was, and how dangerous. She thought about it when she looked at Tony Danzetta, but she couldn’t understand why.

Finally, just before dawn she drifted off again. When she woke, late in the morning, it was to the realization that she was still wearing her jeans and the blouse. She’d been too preoccupied even to change into a nightgown.