by Janet Dailey
“You can’t even pick out your wedding colors since they should be appropriate to the season,” her mother realized with vague dismay.
“Please, will you stop talking about the wedding?” Shari asked with fraying patience. “It’s probably going to be a long time away, and a lot of things might happen between now and then.”
“Aren’t you and Whit getting along?” The concern was instant. “You haven’t quarreled again? The two of you used to get along so well together. Sometimes, I had the feeling you worshiped him.”
“I was much younger then,” Shari replied, aware that she had regarded Whit with a certain adoration when she was growing up.
Perhaps she had been more amenable to taking orders then. But she wasn’t about to marry any man who tossed her a ring and informed her they were getting married—even Whit.
“Then you have argued with him?” her mother concluded from Shari’s ambiguous statement.
“Mother, you know that Whit never argues,” she reminded her dryly.
The knock at the door was a welcome interruption of the conversation. Shari picked up the china cup of coffee to take a sip.
“Yes, come in.” Elizabeth repeated her earlier phrase.
This time when the door opened, Whit entered. He was dressed for the fields, wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt that exposed his tanned and muscled forearms and snug-fitting brown denim pants that were tucked inside his calf-high leather boots, a modernized image of a plantation owner. His wind-rumpled dark hair glinted with gold lights put there by long hours in the sun. All of Shari’s normal body actions were suddenly scattered to the wind by the sight of him.
“Whit, this is a pleasant surprise,” her mother greeted him with open delight. “We were just talking about you.”
“Yes, speak of the devil,” Shari murmured to conceal the havoc his presence was creating with her senses.
Whit ignored her comment, but his glance held a hint of mockery. “I thought I’d find Shari with you,” he said to immediately establish she was the one he had come to see. “She’s been hiding in here with you a lot lately.”
“It’s not hiding when you know where I am,” Shari countered.
“Maybe ‘hiding’ is the wrong word,” he conceded indifferently. “But sometimes I wonder if you’re not afraid of me.”
“Why should I be afraid of you?” She laughed to show how ridiculous the idea was.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Without knowing why, Shari felt she was on shaky ground. “Would you like a warm pecan roll? Mrs. Youngblood just brought them up.” She picked up the plate to offer him one.
“No, thanks. I have to watch my figure,” Whit replied facetiously. “I came to tell you that your engagement present has finally arrived.”
“My engagement present?” Shari stared at him blankly. He hadn’t said anything about it before.
“Yes. Will you come outside and see it?” The tilt of his head was faintly challenging.
Confused by the situation, Shari didn’t know what she should do. If she refused with her mother sitting there, a hundred questions would have to be answered. But it was really her curiosity that insisted she had to see what he’d bought her. After that gaudy engagement ring, she was prepared for just about anything.
“Naturally, I’m going with you to see it,” she replied as if her decision had never been in question.
“Come along then,” Whit prodded.
The look in his eyes started a wild fluttering in her stomach. Instead of hurrying as she was told, Shari took her time setting the plate of rolls on the tray and removing the napkin from her lap. When she finally stood up, she glanced at her mother and smiled.
“I’ll be back in a little bit,” she promised.
“Don’t count on it, Elizabeth,” Whit advised and took Shari by the arm to lead her out of the room.
In the hallway outside her mother’s room, Shari stopped to obtain an explanation of his parting remark to her mother. She didn’t like the sound of it.
“Why did you indicate to Mother that I wouldn’t be coming back right away?” Shari confronted him with her question, eyeing him suspiciously.
There continued to be a hint of complacent amusement in his expression. It glinted in his dark eyes and faintly curved the line of his mouth.
“I just have a hunch this will take longer than you think,” was all he would say in response.
Whit placed a hand on the small of her back to direct her to the staircase.
The warmth of his touch radiated through her body. It was always like this. She seemed to come truly alive only when she was with him. If things had been different, she probably would have been clinging to him ecstatically at this moment.
“Why do we have to go outside?” she asked, sliding him a glance as they walked down the stairs. “Can’t you bring the present inside?”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea.” A smile lurked at the corners of his mouth but he wouldn’t give her any hints.
“I know you didn’t buy me a car. I already have one,” Shari said, speaking her thoughts aloud. Then she shot him a look of suspicion. “You aren’t taking me outside to force an engagement ring on me, are you? Because it won’t work. I don’t really want it or your present.”
“You’ll want the present.” His confidence was absolute.
Totally confused, Shari couldn’t think of a single thing he could have bought her—and especially one that he knew in advance she wanted. At the bottom of the stairs, he guided her to the wide front door.
As they walked outside, a summer wind tangled itself in her black hair. Shari stopped at the top of the steps to push the strands away from her eyes and look around. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing that might be a present.
“Where is it?” She turned to glance at Whit.
“Over there.” His hand motioned to her right.
At first she didn’t see what he was indicating. His horse, Banner, was standing in the shade of a tree, all saddled and bridled. That wasn’t unusual. And Shari certainly didn’t think that Whit intended to present his own horse to her as a gift.
The golden chestnut turned its dish-shaped head in the direction of the house and whickered, catching the scent of its master. When it shifted position, Shari noticed a second horse that had been blocked from her view.
For a full second, she stared at the gray gelding, certain she was seeing things. She didn’t dare believe what she was seeing, and turned her searching eyes on Whit.
“Is it …?” Her hopes were raised so high, she was afraid to even ask.
A smile spread lazily across his mouth. “It’s Rebel,” he confirmed.
Her chin started to tremble as her eyes welled with tears. She was too overcome with happiness to say a word. She didn’t understand how he had known.
“Aren’t you going to go say ‘hello’?” Whit gently prompted her.
His question released Shari from the immobility that had claimed her. She ran down the steps and across the lawn to the shade tree where the horses were tied. The gray gelding turned its head and snorted, pricking its ears at her approach.
Shari slowed to walk the last few steps to the horse’s head. It stretched out its gray-black nose to her, blowing softly. Her smile tightened with emotion as she reached up to scratch the gray forehead. Beneath its peppered forelock, dark, luminous eyes looked back at her.
“Rebel, it really is you,” she whispered and laughed when the gray tried to nip at the sleeve of her blouse. “You haven’t changed a bit, you ornery devil.”
She shifted her position to stand to one side of his head and stroke the horse’s sleek, muscled neck. There was still a part of her that couldn’t believe the gelding was back. She wrapped her arms around its neck and pressed her face against its dark mane, not caring if it seemed foolish or childish. A warm, horsey smell filled her senses.
Rebel didn’t care much for such displays of affection and tossed hi
s head in protest, rattling the bridle bit in his mouth. So many memories crowded into her mind that she couldn’t sort them through.
When the gray horse attempted to sidle away from her, Shari loosened the circle of her arms. She couldn’t argue against the gelding’s feisty spirit that didn’t like being held too tightly. The horse was stubborn and headstrong—like her—Whit had said so many times.
“I wouldn’t want you any other way, Rebel,” Shari murmured and rubbed its wide chest to calm the gelding down.
“Do you think you can remember how to ride that bundle of trouble?” The low question came from behind her.
Shari glanced once at Whit, then moved to untie the reins. A second challenge wasn’t required as she looped the reins over the gray’s neck.
“If I don’t remember, you can pick me up when I fall off,” Shari declared with a reckless smile. “You should know how. You’ve done it enough times.”
With one hand gripping the reins and a handful of mane, Shari hopped to reach the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Rebel pulled eagerly at the bit, his iron hooves impatiently beating the ground. Shari held him in check a few seconds longer until she saw that Whit was ready to mount his chestnut horse. Then she relaxed the pressure of the bit. The gray horse didn’t need any other encouragement.
Within two strides, the gelding was in a canter and stretching out to increase it to a run. It didn’t seem to Shari that she needed to guide the horse. It was racing with its ears pricked forward as if it was eager to revisit the old trails. She let him have his head and the horse picked the open lane to the tobacco fields, the very route they had always used as a starting point.
Another set of hooves pounded the packed ground behind her. Shari glanced over her shoulder and saw that Whit was gaining on them with his flashy chestnut. Out of sheer fun, she turned the ride into a race, urging Rebel faster and laughing at the wind that tried to whip the air from her lungs.
The thunder of racing hooves hammered in her ears, driving its own brand of excitement into her being. The network of farm roads connecting the different fields were alternately sunlit and shaded. Flecks of foam from the gray’s lathered neck were thrown back on Shari. The gray’s stride wasn’t as effortless as it had been starting out.
When she applied pressure on the bit to slow the horse down, Rebel responded without any protest. She brought him down to a trot. His flanks heaved beneath her as the gelding blew out a rolling snort. She patted his wet neck, smiling her pleasure for the wild ride. It was a long time since she had felt this free, all her tension stripped away.
Just ahead of them, a hen pheasant took wing, flying out of the hedgerow lining the dirt lane. The gray horse still had enough energy to shy at the sudden movement. Shari kept her seat in the saddle, a breathless laugh slipping from her throat when the moment had passed.
The chestnut horse drew alongside the gray. “I don’t know which of you is crazier,” Whit declared. “You or that horse. It’s going to be a toss-up whether he breaks a leg before you break your neck.”
But he was smiling and that gold sparkle was in his amber eyes. Shari couldn’t have taken him seriously even if the reproval had been meant to be. She was in too glorious a mood to let idle warnings spoil it.
“Part of this still doesn’t seem real,” she admitted on a contented sigh and lifted her gaze to the clear, blue sky overhead. “I almost think I’m dreaming it. But if it’s a dream, I don’t care.”
“It isn’t a dream,” Whit assured her. “Rebel is yours again.”
She believed him because she had never dreamed in sight, sound and sensation before. Creaking saddle leather, jangling metal bits and the clip-clopping of hooves confirmed the sound part of it. Shari could feel the movement of the horse between her legs and her eyes recognized the gray gelding that had taken her on so many wild rides before.
“Thank you.” It seemed an inadequate response, but she wasn’t able to express how deeply she was moved by the gift.
Both horses settled into a walk. “I had the devil’s own time finding him,” Whit said. “He’s had two more owners since you sold him. You seem to be the only one who appreciates his lawless ways.”
“Not lawless,” Shari corrected. “Rebel is just independent.”
“Okay, independent,” he accepted her adjective with a certain dryness. “Now you understand why I told your mother you probably wouldn’t be back for a while. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist riding him.”
“You were absolutely right,” she agreed. Laughter came so easily to her, rolling from her throat without needing much of a reason. “Did you tell anyone what you were doing? Have they been keeping it a secret from me?”
“Only Granddad, since he took some of the telephone messages for me,” Whit explained. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You succeeded.” It was an understatement. Shari leaned forward in the saddle to stroke the gray’s neck, almost needing the reassurance of touching the animal.
A pickup truck was parked at a field gate just ahead of them. When they reached it, Whit reined his chestnut aside to talk to the man out checking the field’s crop. Shari halted her horse as well, but didn’t join the two men.
Her gaze swept the rows of tobacco plants beyond the fence. It was nearly head-high. By late August, it would grow that tall. From her early years of being raised on the tobacco farm, Shari knew the process that was followed.
All during the growing season, the tobacco rows were walked. The pink and white blossoms that bloomed at the top of the plant were cut off, and any suckers that grew were broken off in an effort to keep the plants from becoming leggy. The better grade of tobacco leaves grew close to the ground.
Come September, the burley would be ready for cutting. Field hands would move up and down the rows, cutting leaf by leaf. Then they’d be stacked in the barn for curing. Shari fondly recalled the times just before auctions when Frederick Lancaster used to pace the barns, praying aloud for a damp, piercing cold to finish the curing process.
Whenever she could, she had attended the auctions with Whit. Harvest times were always so festive with Christmas just around the corner. It almost seemed like a county fair, there was so much excitement going on at the auctions. In the three years she’d been away at college, Shari realized she had missed these simple pleasures.
“You’re far away.” Whit’s quiet voice penetrated her reminiscent thoughts, bringing her back to the present.
She darted a brief glance at him and nodded, turning her gaze back to golding green tobacco fields. “I guess I was,” she admitted.
“What were you thinking about?” His gaze studied her with interest as the chestnut shifted beneath him, stamping at a pesky fly.
“Just … that I’ve missed this.” It was a simple answer, but it covered it all.
“I think you’ve finally come home,” he remarked cryptically and lifted the reins. “Shall we head back? It’s nearly noon.”
“Already?” It didn’t seem possible so much time had passed.
“Yes, already,” Whit confirmed with a half-mocking smile.
They rode back to the stables at a much slower pace, letting the horses cool off. There was little conversation along the way. Shari relaxed still more, listening to the bird songs and smelling the many scents in the fresh air.
Outside the stable doors, they reined in the horses and dismounted. Shari was conscious of her stiffening muscles, unaccustomed to riding after all this time. When the groom came to lead the horses inside their stalls and unsaddle them, she curved an arm under the gray’s neck in a last gesture of affection.
“Why is Rebel getting all the hugs?” Whit asked. “I’m the one responsible for him being here or have you overlooked that?”
“No.” She laughed and moved aside so the groom could lead the gelding away.
When she turned to Whit, she experienced a rush of emotion that wasn’t limited to gratitude. The only outlet to express it seemed to be a physical one. Shari
crossed the small space between them and tightly wound her arms around his middle to hug him. His arms circled her in response as she rested her cheek against his broad chest.
“What made you buy Rebel back for me?” It was something she didn’t understand. And she wanted to, because his answer could mean so much—if it was the right one.
“It isn’t natural the way you’ve been shutting yourself in the house lately. I had to find a way to get you out,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure buying you just any horse would do it. But I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist if the horse was Rebel.”
“You were right,” Shari agreed. It was so easy to enjoy the warmth of his arms without the need to feel on guard.
His head was bent close to her hair. She could feel his breath stirring the black, wind-tousled strands. “Happy?” he murmured.
“Yes.” She raised her head to look up at him, her gaze moving warmly over his handsomely male features. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”
Whit combed his fingers into her hair to hold the side of her face in his palm. “Do you still doubt that I can make you happy?”
“You … could make me very happy,” she admitted, but she knew he hadn’t yet. A quiver of unease ran through her nerves. “Did you buy Rebel to try to bribe me into marrying you?” she demanded warily.
“I don’t have any doubt that you’ll marry me,” he stated.
Bitter tears stung the back of her eyes. How could anyone be so thoughtful yet be so arrogant? Yet she didn’t try to avoid his kiss when his mouth lowered onto hers. Mentally, Shari could resist his persuasions, but her flesh was too susceptible to his experienced kisses.
His passion remained checked by the publicness of their embrace in the middle of the stable yard. But Whit continued to hold her within the circle of his arms after the kiss was over.
“I know you, Shari,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes and seeing the conflicting emotions. “And I know what you want.”
