and I,” he murmured quietly, his eyes with a faraway look. “She’s one of a kind.”
In bed, she probably was, Pepi thought, but she couldn’t give herself away by saying so. She got up and brought the coffeepot to refill his cup.
“Drink up, pal,” she said gently. “The vigilantes aren’t far away.”
“I feel more steady now,” he said after he’d finished the second cup. “On the outside, anyway.” He lit a cigarette and blew out a thick cloud of smoke, leaning back wearily in the chair. “God, I hate days like this.”
She couldn’t admit that she knew why without incriminating herself. But she remembered well enough what he’d said, and the way he’d screamed when the memory came back in a nightmare delirium. Poor man. Poor, tortured man. He’d lost his wife and his unborn child on a white-water rafting trip that he’d had the misfortune to survive. As near as she could tell, he’d blamed himself for that ever since. For living, when they hadn’t.
“I guess we all have good ones and bad ones,” she said noncommittally. “If you’re okay, I’ll get back to my cooking. Dad’s reminded me that he’s due an apple pie. I’ve been baking half the afternoon.”
“You’re a domestic little thing, aren’t you?” he asked strangely, searching her eyes. “Is Brandon coming to see you tonight?”
She blushed without knowing why. “Brandon is the vet,” she said shortly. “Not my boyfriend.”
“You could use a boyfriend, tidbit,” he said unexpectedly, his eyes narrowing, his frown deepening as he fingered the empty mug. “You’re a woman now. You need more than companionship from a man.”
“I know what I need, thanks,” she replied, rising. “You’d better stick your head in a bucket or something and see if you can get that bloodshot look out of your eyes. And for heaven’s sake, swallow some minty mouthwash.”
He sighed. “Anything else, Mother Mathews?” he asked sarcastically.
“Yes. Stop getting drunk. It only makes things worse.”
He stared at her curiously. “You’re so wise, aren’t you, Pepi?” he asked cuttingly. “You haven’t lived long enough to know why people drink.”
“I’ve lived long enough to know that nobody ever solved a problem by running away from it,” she returned, glaring back when his eyes started flashing black fire at her. “And don’t start growling, either, because it’s the truth and you know it. You’ve spent years living in the past, letting it haunt you. Oh, I don’t pretend to know why,” she said quickly when he began to eye her suspiciously, “but I know a haunted man when I see one. You might try living in the present, C.C. It’s not so bad. Even at calving time. And just think, you have roundup to look forward to,” she added with a wicked grin. “See you.”
She started out the door without her jacket, so nervous that she’d given herself away that she hardly missed it until the wind hit her.
“Here, you’ll freeze,” he said suddenly, and came toward her with the jacket in his hand. “Put this on.”
Unexpectedly he held it for her and didn’t let go even when she was encased in it. He held her back against his chest, both lean hands burning through the sleeves of the coat, his chin on the top of her head.
“Don’t bruise your heart on me, Pepi,” he said quietly, with such tenderness in his deep voice that her eyes closed instinctively at the tone. “I don’t have anything left to give you.”
“You’re my friend, C.C.,” she said through her teeth. “I hope I’m yours. That’s all.”
His hands contracted for a minute. His chest rose and fell heavily. “Good,” he said then, and let her go. “Good. I’m glad that’s all there is to it. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
She opened the door and glanced back, forcing a smile to her lips even though he’d just destroyed all her dreams. “Try some of Charlie’s chili peppers next time you feel like a binge,” she advised. “The top of your head will come off just as fast, but you won’t have a hangover from it.”
“Get out of here!” he grumbled, glaring at her.
“If I see Dad, I’ll tell him you’re getting a snack, before you feed the livestock,” she returned, grinning. She closed the door quickly and she heard him curse.
Her father was already home when she got there. He glared at her from the living room, her mirror image except for his masculinity and white hair.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“Out counting sheep,” she said innocently.
“Sheep or one black one named C.C.?”
She pursed her lips. “Well…”
He shook his head. “Pepi, if I ever catch him with a bottle, he’s through here, no matter how good a foreman he is,” he said firmly. “He knows the rules.”
“He was making himself a snack in the bunkhouse,” she said. “I just poked my head in to ask if he’d like some of my…excuse me, your…apple pie.”
He scowled fiercely. “It’s my pie. I’m not sharing it!”
“I made two,” she said quickly. “You old reprobate, you’d never fire C.C. You’d shoot yourself first and we both know it, but save your pride and say you’d fire him if it makes you feel better,” she told him as she stripped off her jacket.
He finished lighting his pipe and glanced at her. “You’ll wear your heart out on him, you know,” he said after a minute.
Her back stiffened. “Yes. I know.”
“He’s not what he seems,” he continued.
She turned, eyeing him warily. “What do you mean?”
“You tell me.” He stared at the window, where snow was touching the pane under the outside lights. “He drove in here without a past at all. No references. No papers. I gave him a job on the strength of my instinct and his very evident ability with animals and figures. But he’s no more a line-riding cowboy than I am a banker. He’s elegant, C.C. is. And he knows business in an uncommon way for a poor man. You mark my words, girl, there’s more to him than what shows.”
“He does seem out of place at times,” she had to admit. She couldn’t tell him the rest—that she knew why C.C. was out here on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. But even she hadn’t learned from her involuntary eavesdropping during his delirium why he’d left that shadowy past. He’d come from money and he’d suffered a tragic loss, she knew that, and he was afraid to risk his heart again. That didn’t stop Pepi from risking hers, though. It was far too late for any warning.
“He could be anything, you know,” he said quietly, “even an escaped convict.”
“I doubt that.” She grinned. “He’s too honest. Remember when you lost that hundred-dollar bill out in the barn, and C.C. brought it to you? I’ve seen him go out of his way to help other cowboys who were down on their luck. He’s got a temper, but he isn’t
