The Way We Wed

Jeff took a moment to consider that. “You know as well as I do that if I were a quitter, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

His father sent him a look of understanding, of love and gratitude. “Nor would I, son.”

Minutes later, East pulled up at the boarding terminal and stopped. He shoved the gearshift into Park as Jeff climbed out and grabbed his leather overnight bag. East walked around the vehicle, stopped in front of his son and gazed into his eyes. The look held and seemed to say volumes. “Keep me informed, will you?”

“I will. Give my love to Ally and the baby. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.” East and Alicia’s baby girl, Annie, had been born three days ago; mother and child were still in the hospital.

“She’ll understand,” East assured him.

Jeff hugged his father tightly for several long seconds, then picked up his bag and walked toward the double doors, not looking back. He didn’t want his dad to see the moisture in his eyes.

The first-class ticket East had arranged got Jeff a comfortable aisle seat on the big jumbo jet in the second row. After takeoff, he stretched out his long legs and accepted a cup of black coffee from the flight attendant, but refused the snack she offered. He didn’t need food. He needed a miracle.

A bomb blast. Good Lord, how could anyone survive such a thing? Myriad questions whirled around in his brain. How close had Tish been to the blast? How extensive were her injuries? What had she been operated on for? What was her revised prognosis? The nurse he’d spoken with had said, “It’s still touch-and-go.” What exactly did that mean?

Jeff had two more years of medical training left, planning to specialize in trauma injuries, the choice SPEAR felt would be most beneficial to the organization. Well, a bomb injury certainly qualified as a trauma. Yet he had no idea what kind of injuries she’d sustained.

Just a few weeks ago in Australia, he’d treated SPEAR agent Lise Meldrum for a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Simple things like that didn’t throw him. But bomb injuries? Most doctors never even run across such a thing in a lifetime of practice. But then, most doctors don’t work for secret government agencies.

The coffee was hot and strong. Jeff drank half a cup before leaning his head back and shutting his eyes. He knew he couldn’t sleep so he might as well enjoy the caffeine. Who could sleep when his imagination had him picturing all sorts of terribly traumatic injuries? Behind closed eyelids, scenes past and present, along with future possibilities, vied for his attention.

Actually, on second thought, Lise’s injury hadn’t exactly been cut-and-dried. The bullet had exited through the other side, but had come perilously close to the pulmonary artery causing a great deal of bleeding. Lise also had difficulty breathing because the passage to her lungs was involved. A grateful Russell Devane, another SPEAR agent who’d fallen in love with Lise, had thanked Jeff profusely for saving her life. The doctor at the hospital where they’d finally taken Lise also had praised his work.

But that was still small potatoes compared with bomb injuries, he was certain. He’d heard through the grapevine that Russell and Lise were getting married. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was possible in this crazy business to be happily married? East and Ally seemed content, but they were only on the fringes of SPEAR now, managing Condor.

Restless, he leaned toward the window and gazed out into the dark night. It was dark with not a cloud visible. Jeff reached for the phone on the seat back in front of him and dialed the New York hospital. After much transferring about, he finally was able to talk with the recovery room nurse. But all he learned was that Tish was resting comfortably considering the circumstances.

What the hell did that mean?

Disconnecting, Jeff vowed that when he became a full-fledged doctor, he would never be vague with relatives of his patients. If only they knew what they put people through, they’d be more forthcoming. Maybe.

Sitting back, he drained his coffee cup and again closed his eyes. The overhead cabin lights had been dimmed and the half dozen other passengers in first class appeared to be settling down for some shut-eye. If he couldn’t sleep, at least he could rest his body, Jeff decided, and pushed his seat back as far as it would go. He tried closing his eyes and emptying his mind, but it didn’t work. Awake or asleep, he pictured Tish, her lovely smile, her wonderful laugh.

Sighing, he let himself remember the summer day last year that he’d seen her for the first time….

Red Rock Ranch, previous summer

Jeff leaned against the corral fence, one booted foot propped on the bottom rung, lazily watching the horses on a hot August afternoon. Red Rock Ranch in northern Arizona was the perfect place for him to recuperate after his ordeal in Idaho, or so East had said. His dad had told him to do as little or as much as he wanted, not to push himself, to let his psyche heal.

However, Jeff had arrived only yesterday and he’d already discovered that he wasn’t very good at doing nothing.

Red Rock was another of SPEAR’s legitimate businesses, a working cattle ranch that also provided adventure vacations for monied tourists. But more importantly, it was a SPEAR training site ideally situated in the rugged mountains surrounding the ranch. It was beautiful country with its freshwater streams, the isolated location that brought about pitch-black nights, the silence broken only by the animals nearby.

And there were plenty of them, two thousand head of Brahman-cross cows, twenty bulls and a couple dozen horses. The nearest town was two hours away on a rough dirt road scarcely navigable without an ATV. There were several of those around, too, and even an ultralight aircraft the manager used to fly out each morning over the 120 acres to check the water supply, fences and livestock. It was a huge operation and Jeff had learned to respect the dozen or so ranch hands who kept things running smoothly.

He eased his hat back farther on his blond head and glanced up to watch a hawk chase a low-flying quail. He’d only visited Red Rock once before in his late teens, but the manager, Slim Huxley, remembered him well. That summer, Slim had taught him to ride a horse, how to spot fresh mountain lion tracks and the best way to round up cattle to herd them to a different pasture, and a whole lot more. East had commented when Jeff had returned to Condor that fall that he’d sent away a boy and gotten back a man, for Jeff had filled out and muscled up.

Suddenly the lazy afternoon quiet was broken by the sound of a galloping horse coming closer. Jeff turned his head in the direction of the open pastureland off to the left.

She was some distance away yet, astride a chestnut mare, her short dark hair flying about her face. With the pounding of each hoof, red dust sprayed from the dry rocky soil beneath the short, tough grass. Luckily there were no trees in her path for she was riding at a pretty good clip, heading for the barn right behind him. Straightening, he watched her approach.

Now he could tell she was as one with the horse, leaning forward over the thick neck, grasping handfuls of coarse mane. She was a small woman, yet she seemed totally un-afraid of the huge beast. Fascinated, Jeff wondered who she was, this woman who rode so confidently. He was aware there were about twenty tourists staying at the ranch just now, but none that he’d seen ride like that.

The mare sensed the ride was nearly over and seemed reluctant to stop even though they were nearing the barn. Finally, the big horse gave in and moved into a canter, then a walk. Moments later, both mare and rider came to a halt near him. The woman swung out of the saddle with a move so graceful that he knew she’d done it many times before.

Jeff studied her in silence, taking his time to admire. She was small and feminine-looking despite the outsize man’s shirt and snug jeans she wore. Her wind-tossed hair was a rich brown, glossy, curling forward at her chin. Her face was flushed from her ride, a lovely olive complexion hinting at a Mediterranean heritage, her features fine-boned. Her mouth had a full lower lip that immediately had him wondering how it would feel to kiss her.

Jeff leaned against the fence and waited for her to notice him.

“Good girl,” the woman told the mare as she stroked the horse’s hide. The horse bobbed her big head up and down, then stretched to nuzzle the rider. The woman let out a husky laugh, then swung about and spotted Jeff for the first time. She shook back her hair while her chocolate-brown eyes slowly took inventory of him from his black Stetson to his leather boots, lingering just a heartbeat too long on his midsection.

Suddenly she smiled and Jeff felt his heart do a somersault.

“You must be new,” she said in a voice as husky as her laugh. She stepped closer, held out her hand. “I’m Tish Buckner.”

He straightened, took her hand, slender but capable, and felt a jolt skitter up his spine. Her fingers trembled in his grasp and he knew she felt something, too. He watched nerves dance in her surprised gaze, saw her try to conceal her reaction.

“Jeff Kirby,” he said, relieved that his voice hadn’t cracked since he felt like a pubescent teenager meeting his first girl. He could easily stand here holding her hand and staring into those fathomless brown eyes forever, he decided. Lord, but she was beautiful.

“Nice to meet you,” Tish replied, then tugged her hand free of his, but kept her eyes on his face. She studied him a moment longer, then raised her firm chin that hinted at a stubborn streak and handed him the mare’s reins. “Would you cool her down, please? Her name’s Belladonna and she belongs in stall 10.”

It took a moment for Jeff to realize she thought he was one of the ranch hands. Amusement bubbled up inside him, but he struggled not to react to her somewhat haughty, lady-of-the-manor attitude. A natural mistake, he supposed, seeing as how he was hanging around the corral wearing worn jeans, a denim work shirt and scuffed boots.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling down at her. He was half a foot taller at the very least. He had a sudden urge to reach over and touch her shiny hair, to watch the heat move into those big eyes. Or would they turn cool and frosty? he wondered. He decided to find out.

Moving one step closer, Jeff raised his hand and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, then let his fingers linger in the softness. He watched the sun get caught in her eyes and fleck the brown with gold as she narrowed them at him, then stepped back.

“If you value your hand, you won’t do that again,” Tish said, her voice suddenly cold as a mountain stream.

So she was skittish, like a newborn filly. She didn’t seem like the average city-bred tourist who came to Red Rock for a ranch vacation, Jeff thought. She was too good a horsewoman and definitely not interested in a flirtation with a cowboy. No rings on her fingers, he noticed, so she probably wasn’t attached. If she was a SPEAR agent, he hadn’t heard of her. His gaze slid to her mouth, that full lip that seemed to invite a man to explore. No, he definitely hadn’t met her before. He’d have remembered that mouth. He’d love to question her, but he decided it might be more fun to allow her to think he was a hired hand. For now.

Jeff dropped his hand, gave her a lazy smile. “No offense meant, ma’am. I guess you don’t like to be touched.” It was his turn to narrow his gaze, as if sizing her up. “But maybe you just need to be touched by the right man.”

Now there was fire in her eyes as she stiffened. Without another word, she turned and caressed the mare’s flank, noticeably angry when she saw that her hand wasn’t steady. “See you tomorrow, baby,” she whispered to Belladonna. Turning, Tish walked away, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders obviously tense.

Jeff watched her go until she was out of sight, then led the mare to the side pasture to walk her awhile before wiping her down after that vigorous run. “Sure wish you could talk, Belladonna,” Jeff commented. “I’d love to hear all about that lady.”

Red Rock Ranch consisted of several outbuildings including separate barns for milking cows and newborn calves, others for insemination and birthing as well as horse stables. There was also a large bunkhouse where the ranch hands lived and an adjacent mess hall that had its own cook. The tourists vacationed in a luxurious three-story building that offered spectacular views from deluxe suites. Their dining room took up nearly half of the lower floor.

SPEAR agents stayed in the two-story main house with large, homey rooms with private baths on the top floor. On the lower level was a rustic lobby with slate flooring, a conference room, the manager’s office and a great room with a huge stone fireplace, comfortable furniture, a large-screen television and a full wall of bookcases filled to over-flowing.

There was also the dining room which could easily rival that of a five-star hotel. Breakfast was served from five to ten, lunch from twelve to two and dinner was a leisurely affair available from six on into the evening. In between, snacks could be had by phoning the kitchen and would be delivered to the agent’s room, provided Elsa Winchester, the cook, liked you. All others had best stay out of her way, for she ran her kitchen with an autocratic hand.

Jeff deliberately hadn’t gone down for the evening meal. The first reason was that Elsa was a terrific cook. Too terrific. He’d had a big breakfast and a mammoth lunch, at Elsa’s insistence, since she remembered him from his earlier visit and still thought of him as a growing boy. If he added a huge dinner, he’d be taking in as many calories as the cowhands who spent twelve or fourteen hours using up energy while he was doing precious little to work off gigantic meals. The last thing he wanted was to balloon up, so he decided to drop by around the time he figured most of the agents would be either finished or having coffee.

The second reason was that he’d mosied over to the tourist quarters and discovered that Tish Buckner wasn’t staying there. Next he’d cornered the clerk at the front desk of the main house for the real lowdown. Naomi Star had red hair, thick glasses, an infectious smile and knew everyone and everything that went on at the ranch. Jeff had turned on the charm and Naomi had revealed that Tish wasn’t married, was a very private person and, that as far as she knew, Tish was at Red Rock on vacation.

Armed with that knowledge, Jeff sauntered into the dining room around seven just as the sun was streaking the sky outside the cathedral-style windows with gold and orange and magenta strokes before it disappeared behind the mountains. He was in luck for Tish was there, seated between Slim Huxley, the ranch manager, and John Winters, a fortyish, dark-haired agent Jeff had only just met yesterday. The three other chairs at the table were vacant. Of the dozen tables in the room, only two others were occupied.