Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series

  When she arrived at the ranch, she didn’t immediately see Cal. Various horses milled around the fenced pasture to her right. She wasn’t sure exactly how many Cliff owned now—several dozen as far as she could tell. On previous visits Linnette had learned the names of a few of them. Cliff’s stallion was called Midnight, and the brown-and-white yearling cavorting around the pasture closest to the fence was Funny Face. And there was Sheba, of course, the mare she’d ridden a few weeks ago.

  When she’d parked and left her car, Cliff was emerging from the barn. He was a good-looking man, probably older than her parents, with a striking, vital presence. She thought he looked better than he ever had, and being a romantic, Linnette felt sure the difference was due to his marriage.

  “Hi, Linnette,” Cliff said as he came closer. He led a big dark-brown horse who stomped and snorted, making her nervous. She saw that the animal was already saddled. “Cal didn’t say you were coming by.”

  “He doesn’t know.” She turned toward the corral and saw Cal standing there, a rope in his hands. The animal apparently recognized his intentions and whirled to avoid him.

  Linnette watched, fascinated, as Cal expertly spun the lasso, all the while moving slowly toward the horse. With an ease that seemed entirely natural, he tossed the rope. His aim was true, and the lasso settled around the horse’s neck. The stallion suddenly reared up, pawing frantically in the air. Linnette gasped and covered her eyes.

  Cliff touched her shoulder in a reassuring gesture, and Linnette made an effort not to step apprehensively aside as the black horse thrust its neck toward her. “It’ll be fine. Cal’s working with a new stallion I just bought. He wouldn’t do anything that might hurt the horse or himself.”

  When she found the courage to look again, she saw Cal standing in the corral, the stallion now backing away from the restraint. He kicked up dirt and reared again.

  An involuntary sound of protest came from her lips as she rushed to the fence. She stared in horror as Cal went down. Cliff stood there, watching, too, and she wondered why he didn’t seem more worried about the fact that Cal knelt on the ground, hunched over as if in pain.

  “He’s fine,” Cliff assured her again. And as she looked intently at Cal, she saw him get up, still holding the rope. Her heart was in her throat as he shortened the distance between the stallion and himself, speaking quietly to the massive horse.

  Linnette stared in amazement as he neared the animal and, after a few minutes, ran his hand down the sleek, sweat-drenched neck. She couldn’t believe he’d managed to do that—or that the stallion was allowing it.

  Linnette didn’t understand what had just happened. All she knew was that she had to get to Cal—talk to him. Find out for herself that he was all right. Despite herself, she was impressed that he’d subdued the stallion so quickly.

  She climbed the fence and swung her leg over the top rung when Cliff stopped her.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. “Cal will be back in a few minutes.”

  Sure enough, as soon as he’d slipped a halter on the stallion and led him into the barn, he joined Linnette and Cliff. He was frowning slightly. “What are you doing here?” he asked. She noticed that he hadn’t greeted her or expressed any pleasure at seeing her.

  “I came to talk,” she said. Her heart was still racing. Cal’s world was so different from her own, she reminded herself. So filled with risks and dangers that were commonplace to him, but completely foreign to her.

  When he didn’t respond, she couldn’t help asking, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” he said brusquely. Then he seemed to relent a bit. “I’m perfectly fine,” he said in a friendlier tone.

  “But…you could’ve been injured! What if that horse had kicked you? Or stomped on you? Or…or…”

  “He didn’t, did he?”

  In the back of her mind she registered that he’d spoken without stammering or hesitation. “Why do you take these kinds of risks?”

  He didn’t seem to realize how badly she’d been shaken by seeing him in danger. Her knees would barely support her.

  “Come on,” Cal said, ignoring her question. He slipped an arm around her waist as he drew her away from Cliff. “Let’s talk, since that’s why you’re here.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she blurted out. “I know you feel you’re doing something noble and good but is it really necessary? And doesn’t this seem like a bad time?” She was afraid he hadn’t considered all the consequences of leaving. “You’re doing so well with your speech therapy…and…and you said yourself that there are mares ready to deliver. Surely Cliff needs you.” Desperately she looked in the other man’s direction, but Cliff had already mounted the brown horse and galloped off, giving her and Cal privacy. “And what about me?” she added.

  “Cliff’s encouraging me to go,” he said patiently. “My speech therapist thinks it’s fine.” He shrugged. “I need to do this.”

  “But—”

  “This is my life, L-Linnette,” he said and for the first time his voice faltered slightly. “I make my own decisions.”

  “Of course you do.” She was astounded—and frightened—by the intensity of his declaration.

  “P-perhaps I sh-should’ve told you earlier. Actually, it’s been in the works for some t-time.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He removed his hat and wiped his forearm across his brow. “Because I knew you were going to object, so I k-kept putting it off. You’re right—I should’ve said something sooner, but I’m telling you now. L-like I said, this is important to me, and I’m going with or without your approval.”

  “All right,” she murmured, backing down with a sigh of resignation. Nothing she said was going to make any difference at this point.

  “Good. Then we’re clear on that.” His voice was devoid of expression.

  “Perhaps you could explain why this is so important to you,” she suggested.

  Together, but not touching, they walked over to the fence. Leaning against it, Cal braced his boot on the bottom rung. “Mustangs are being trapped by the Bureau of Land Management and because of a t-t-technicality in the law, once they’re sold, too many of them are being slaughtered.”

  He’d mentioned some of this when he’d visited on Easter Sunday. She hadn’t paid much attention to the details, though.

  “Why?” she asked. “How can they do this?”

  “United States law allows mustangs over the age of ten to be sold ‘without limitations,’” he explained.

  “In other words,” she said, “they’re being caught and sold and whoever buys them can do what they want with these horses.”

  “Th-that’s what’s happening, yes.”

  “But it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re being killed,” Linnette argued.

  “I wish you were right. Unfortunately that’s not the case. These beautiful beasts are being used for dog food here in the States or sold for human consumption in Europe.”

  That couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. Although she knew little about horses, she was reluctant to accept that the government would allow this kind of senseless slaughter.

  Several minutes passed in silence before Cal turned to look at her. “Can you understand why this is so important to me?” he asked.

  Linnette did understand. What she didn’t grasp was why Cal had to go. He was only one person and there wasn’t much he could do by himself.

  She pressed a finger to Cal’s lips. Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t see him clearly. “How long?” she asked, speaking around the knot in her throat. “How long will you be gone?” She wanted him to hold her, reassure her, but he didn’t.

  “A month, six weeks at the most.”

  “What do you intend to do with the mustangs?” She wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her sweater.

  “There are various agencies that adopt them out. Like I told your family at Easter, I’ll be volunteering with the BLM and working with one of the agencies. Onc
e the horses are captured and checked for health problems, they’re available for adoption or auctioned off. I’ll buy a few for Cliff and me, and I’ll help the wild horse rescue group in whatever way they need.” A smile slowly emerged. “I’ll do everything I can to prevent even a few of them from being sold for slaughter.”

  Unwilling to wait for him to make the first move, Linnette threw her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder. “What about us?” she asked. She could hear a distant truck, growing louder as it approached.

  Cal stroked her hair with tenderness. Although his touch was gentle, an uneasy feeling refused to leave her. Something had changed between them, and she didn’t know what. Or why.

  Just then, the truck she’d heard rolled into the yard. Cal dropped his arms and stepped away from her.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “The vet.”

  Vicki Newman climbed out of the pickup and headed toward them, striding like a movie cowboy. Linnette had never met the other woman, although her name routinely came into conversations. She often stopped by the ranch for one reason or another. These horses seemed to require constant medical attention, Linnette thought, unable to curb her cynicism.

  Placing his hand lightly on her shoulder, Cal made the introductions.

  Vicki Newman nodded and held her gaze. She wasn’t attractive or even very feminine looking, Linnette noted critically. Her light-brown hair was long and severely tied back, which sharpened her features. She wore jeans and a faded shirt.

  “Nice to finally meet you,” Vicki said.

  “You, too,” Linnette told her. After an awkward moment, she realized she was in the way. Whatever business they had to conduct, she clearly wasn’t needed. “I, ah, guess I’d better get home.”

  Cal walked her to her car and kissed her cheek. As she drove away, Linnette glanced back and saw Cal and Vicki with their heads together, talking. It intensified the anxiety that roiled in her stomach.

  Eighteen

  “Come on, Olivia,” Jack shouted over his shoulder as he jogged several paces ahead of her on Lighthouse Road. Fortunately traffic was light for a Saturday afternoon.

  “Jack,” she panted, struggling to keep up. “Slow down.” She’d never thought she’d see the day that Jack Griffin could outrun her. But now that he was down thirty pounds and working out regularly, he’d become an exercise convert. His heart attack had been the motivation—and the warning—that he needed.

  Trying to catch up, Olivia trotted along, breathing hard by the time she reached his side. “How much farther?” she panted.

  “Around the next corner is three full miles.”

  As soon as they rounded the curve in the road, Olivia stopped, slumping against the speed limit sign, exhausted. She leaned forward to catch her breath. “I can’t keep up with you anymore,” she said, gulping air into her lungs.

  Jogging in place, Jack looked exceptionally proud of himself. “You might want to lose a few pounds.”

  “Jack!” She straightened and glared at him, hands on her hips.

  “Just kidding,” he said, chuckling.

  “No, you weren’t.” The thing was, she probably could afford to lose five pounds. Except that at her age, it wasn’t as easy as it had once been. Despite all her hard work, those few stubborn pounds refused to budge. It would be easier to melt them off with a blowtorch, as she’d recently told Grace.

  Grace and Olivia were back to meeting every Wednesday for their aerobics class. Afterward they went for pie and coffee at the Pancake Palace. However, Olivia had forsaken dessert in the last few weeks. But she might as well have indulged in that coconut cream delight for all the good it’d done her to go without.

  “I was thinking we should take a nice, hot shower when we get home,” Jack suggested, jogging circles around her. He jiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Jack Griffin, you’re outrageous.”

  “Yeah, but you love it.”

  He was right; she loved everything about this man.

  After being single for nearly twenty years, she’d had to make a real adjustment to return to married life. Jack had been divorced for almost as long, and he’d had to make his own compromises.

  It had taken Jack’s heart attack to show her—remind her—what really mattered in life and in marriage. She loved her husband. That fact was immutable; everything else was negotiable.

  She only hoped that her daughter’s marriage was equally strong, equally capable of surviving a crisis.

  They started the three-mile walk back to the house, their pace more leisurely than before.

  “Oh, oh,” Jack said after a moment. “You’ve got that look. Better tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  Olivia sighed and supposed she should get straight to the point. “Justine mentioned that Warren Saget’s been coming by the bank a lot.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Jack muttered. He shared her distaste for the other man.

  Her daughter’s relationship with Warren had always made Olivia uncomfortable, and her disapproval had driven a wedge between them for a long time. Good grief! Warren was Olivia’s age, old enough to be Justine’s father. In fact, Olivia had worried that her daughter was seeking a father figure in him. Stan had been a good husband and father until their son’s death. Afterward, it was as if her ex had abdicated those roles. In retrospect, Olivia believed this was how Stan had dealt with Jordan’s loss. Stan had remarried almost immediately after the divorce, and while he’d continued with child support payments, he’d had practically no emotional involvement with either Justine or her brother, James.

  “Did she tell you what Saget wants?” Jack asked, frowning.

  “Not really. She just said he’s making a lot of unnecessary visits to the bank. I don’t think she’s told Seth about it.”

  “Maybe she should—to avoid any misunderstandings.”

  Olivia agreed with him, but it wasn’t her decision.

  “Warren knows Justine isn’t interested in him, right?” Jack asked.

  Justine had assured Olivia she’d made that abundantly clear. “She loves her husband and family.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Warren Saget,” Jack said, walking faster now. Olivia picked up her pace, too. “Justine would be well advised to stay away from him,” he said.

  “I agree.”

  “Do you figure he’s trying to get on her good side? Because he wants the contract to rebuild the restaurant?”

  “Perhaps,” Olivia said, but she doubted it. Warren’s company was successful, despite a number of complaints and even lawsuits through the years. Olivia had never understood how he stayed in business and yet he did. Warren had lost some of those lawsuits, and won others, and still he thrived.

  What bothered Olivia most was the way he kept turning up in her daughter’s life, like the proverbial bad penny. Olivia knew it’d been hard on Warren’s ego when Justine left him and married Seth. Five years had passed. Surely he was over her daughter by now.

  “Did you hear about Sandy Davis?” Jack asked suddenly.

  Olivia shook her head. Sandy was the sheriff’s wife; she and Troy Davis had been married nearly thirty years. Sandy had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis as a young adult. She’d spent the last two years in a nursing home.

  “She died yesterday.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Olivia murmured. She’d always admired Troy and the way he loved and cared for his wife. He rarely talked about Sandy or her condition, seldom disclosing his own troubles.

  “The funeral’s going to be low-key,” Jack said. “That’s what Troy and his daughter told me when he brought in the obituary. Pastor Flemming is doing the service.”

  “Poor Troy,” she said, wishing she could think of some way to help. “We’ll definitely go to the funeral.”

  “I let your mother know,” Jack told her. “Charlotte and the ladies at the Senior Center are organizing the wake. Most of them knew Sandy.”

  An involuntary smile came to Ol
ivia. “My mother’s so funny about these wakes. She claims that’s where she finds her best recipes. The whole event becomes a recipe exchange.”

  Olivia expected Jack to be as amused as she was and glanced over at him to see that he wasn’t smiling.

  “That’s the way she handles losing her friends,” her husband said. “If she can concentrate on something other than the fact that she’s lost another friend, then she doesn’t feel as bereft.”

  Jack’s insight didn’t surprise her. He was skilled at recognizing the motivations beneath people’s actions. “When did you get so smart?” she teased.

  Jack chuckled. “About the time I married you.”

  “Good answer.”

  “You still interested in that shower?” Olivia asked in a sultry voice as they neared the house.

  “You bet I am.” Her question added an extra bounce to his step.

  Olivia broke into an unhurried trot. “Wanna race?”

  Jack declined. “I think I’d better conserve my strength—for later.”

  “Excellent idea. Otherwise I might wear you out completely and I wouldn’t want to do that.”

  Jack cast her a teasing, sexy look. “Oh, but I was hoping you’d at least try.”

  Olivia couldn’t keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. One of the great gifts of her marriage was laughter. Jack tended to see the humor in situations, even serious ones, and he could be a very clever mimic. “I don’t know what I ever did without you, Jack Griffin.”

  “I don’t, either.”

  “We don’t have anything planned for this evening, do we?” he asked.

  “Well…” Olivia hated to break this to him. “Actually, we do.”

  “We do?” Jack whined.

  “Grace and Cliff invited us to dinner to give Cal a nice send-off to Wyoming.”

  “He needs us to send him off?”

  Olivia would rather stay home, too, but she’d promised her friend. “I told Grace we’d be there.”

  Jack gave a deep, resigned sigh. “What’s Grace cooking?”

  “I didn’t ask.”