“I’m ready,” she called, grinning.
Warmth flowed through Slade as he sat relaxed on his stallion. “Mount up,” he told her. For a stolen moment, Slade watched like a starving wolf as Jordana easily vaulted up into her specially made endurance saddle. Today she wore a bright pink T-shirt, a beat-up black baseball cap and jeans. Her curves called to him, and Slade had to tear his gaze from her small breasts. Jordana’s cheeks were red, and he’d come to realize when she was excited, they colored to mirror her happiness.
Squeezing her calves against Stormy’s sleek gray barrel, she rode up and paralleled Slade. “What now?”
Lifting his hand, he said, “We’ll take the path between the pastures. At the end of it, we’ll go left and then we’ll be on Elkhorn Ranch property. Iris Mason gave me permission years ago to utilize her large ranch land to train my endurance horses. I only have fifty acres, which isn’t enough to toughen up an endurance prospect. On her property, there’s hills, slopes of mountains, as well as flat areas. We need all those to challenge the horse and get him…her…up to speed.”
“What a wonderful gift Iris gave to you!”
He nodded and brought the brim of his Stetson down more securely on his head. “She’s the matriarch of this valley and has a good heart. When I went to her and asked for her permission, she gave it right away. And she didn’t ask for any money. That’s the kind of person she is.” Slade was grateful that Iris hadn’t demanded money for the use of her land. She could have but known, as every other rancher did in this valley, he was nearly penniless. Iris helped out those who had less, and he was thankful for her kindness.
“I hear Iris is marrying Professor Timothy Varden from Harvard,” she said.
Nodding, Slade thought of the invite he’d just received to the event. “Yes, she’s in her eighties but she fell hard for the guy.” And secretly, Slade was happy for Iris. She was one of the stalwart leaders in the valley.
“One of my patients told me about her yesterday. I don’t think anyone dislikes Iris.”
“She’s special.”
“I heard that Senator Peyton was convicted and going to prison. I met Clarissa Peyton the other day over at Gwen Garner’s quilt shop. After Gwen told me what had happened, I felt very sorry for the woman.”
“Yeah, it’s been rough on Clarissa. Matt Sinclaire was his target. This year it’s been a mix of good, sad and bad news.”
“I met Casey Cantrell at a luncheon,” Jordana said with a wispy smile. “She and Matt just got engaged. They’re going to get married at Christmas. Matt felt that his daughter, Megan, would have the terrible memory of her mother killed in that arson fire erased by the happy one.”
“Matt has gone through hell,” Slade agreed, grim. The firefighter had lost Bev, his wife and almost lost his daughter Megan to Senator Peyton’s attempt to kill them. “I like Casey a lot. And Megan is speaking up a storm now. After the fire, she went mute. And it wasn’t until of late she started talking again.”
“I think it was due to Casey,” she confided. Slade’s face had softened and he was reflective. Jordana knew that this valley’s people were very close, and all had connections with one another like a larger family.
“I do, too. Megan calls her Mommy now and I think they’ll have a happy ending. Matt certainly deserves a break after all this hell he’s gone through.”
Nodding, she added, “I suppose you hear most of the town gossip? That Zach Mason, Iris’s grandson, has been caught driving drugs to and from Cheyenne with a gang? I’ll bet Iris is heartbroken.”
“There’s not much I don’t hear,” Slade drawled. “And Zach’s mother, Allison Mason, was just convicted of trying to murder her stepdaughter. Good thing she didn’t succeed, but her son Zach, swore vengeance.”
“I heard from another patient that Zach has been in drugs for a long time.”
“That’s true,” Slade said, running his fingers through Thor’s silky white-and-chestnut mane. “I’m more worried about the sister, Reagan. She had a real career ahead of her in movie directing but she’s sat tight here after the conviction. Word’s out that she’s going to get even with Kam Trayhern, the woman her mother tried to murder.”
Sighing, Jordana said, “That’s what Gwen Garner said. My heart breaks for those two kids. Why didn’t Allison Mason think about them before she tried this harebrained scheme to kill Kam Trayhern?”
Shrugging, Slade said, “People do funny things when they’re threatened.” Hadn’t he? After Isabel had left him, he’d turned into an angry bull, much like Diablo. Human feelings were tough to control sometimes. Slade lifted out of his thoughts and said, “I want you to take off in front of me. Walk Stormy to warm her up until we hit that left turn. Then, I want you to do a slow trot. At all times, I’ll be behind you. I want to size up your mare on the different geological areas and see how she reacts.”
“Okay,” Jordana said, feeling her heart swell with a fierce affection for the taciturn cowboy. “I was doing the same type of riding in the south Jackson Hole area.”
“I’m familiar with where you worked her,” Slade said. “But this has more altitude, is rockier and is far more challenging. If you want Stormy to compete in the top tier, she has to not only take this type of terrain on, but excel at it. Today is a test run. We’ll see how she does.” He didn’t say he’d also be watching how Jordana rode and negotiated the coming demands. As on every endurance ride, the rider never knew what was coming next. He’d get to see how Jordana “talked” to her mare and how the horse responded.
Nodding, Jordana smiled and said, “Okay, we’re off on our first adventure with you!” She walked Stormy past the impatient Thor. The stallion was in magnificent shape. Jordana knew that Thor was the past winner of the Tetons Fifty-mile endurance ride. And he was signed up to run it in early September.
Stormy was hard-pressed to just walk. Like any well-trained athlete, she found walking boring. She pranced and danced sideways as they made their way between the two huge cattle pastures. On her right she saw the massive one-ton bull, Diablo, who was alone and looking forlornly across to the other pasture where his ladies were. In the other pasture, the calves had been separated from their mamas, and they were now fattening up on the lush Wyoming grass.
Slade liked the power of Thor as he rode. The stallion was competitive just like him, and he didn’t like walking behind Stormy. Chomping at the bit, the stallion tossed his head, his long, thick mane flying like a banner in the breeze. At the corner, he watched Jordana give Stormy a leg signal to make the turn. And then, the gray mare broke into a slow trot. Thor lunged, partly reared and fought the bit.
“Easy,” Slade murmured, sliding his gloved hand down the stallion’s tightly arched neck. “You’ll get to run here shortly.”
Snorting violently, Thor pranced as he made the turn. Slade was pleased to see that Jordana was keeping Stormy at a slow trot instead of a fast one. It was so important to warm up an endurance horse the right way. Humans had to do stretches in order to limber up and get more blood into their bodies to face the demanding tasks that would be asked of them. Horses were no different. However, a highly trained and competitive endurance horse hated walking. They would much rather move into a ground eating trot. A horse could pull a muscle, ligament or tendon if not warmed up properly for the coming demanding distances.
Once they rode past the gate and shut it behind them, Slade told her, “See this trail? It leads up to two steep hills about five miles away. I want you to ride at an extended trot. Float her if you can. Tactics in top competition are to get your horse into any flat area where they can hit maximum stride. This is where riders can make up lost time that they’ll encounter in hills or mountainous or steep areas.”
Jordana rode next to the impatient Thor. “And then I’ll be at those twin hills. What then?”
“There’s a path up the first one. Follow it up and down to the second hill. Go up and over the second hill, then, turn left. The trail is flat for two miles. Ope
n her up to a controlled canter. Nothing out of control. I need to see how winded she’s become.”
Patting Stormy’s neck, Jordana said, “I think she’ll sail through these challenges without a problem.”
Grunting, Slade muttered, “We’ll see.”
Taking the gauntlet being thrown down at her, Jordana grinned. “Competition is my middle name.”
Giving her a sour grin in return, Slade liked the blue fire dancing in her eyes. Her shoulder-length black hair was mussed around her face and neck. The urge to reach out and tame some of those reddish strands mixed with black ones nearly overwhelmed him. He couldn’t touch Jordana. He didn’t dare. Her winsome smile, the joy in her expression all served to make Slade happy. For the first time in so many years, he’d forgotten what that emotion felt like. What was it about this feisty upstart of a woman that took him on? Slade realized Jordana had never flirted with him. No, she was all business and professional. Arm’s length. Sadness rolled through him. Maybe it was just as well, Slade acknowledged. He was in no position to think about a relationship. His whole focus was on saving his ranch from foreclosure.
Taking out a stopwatch from the leather vest he wore over his white cowboy shirt, he said, “Okay, take off. I’ll be timing you.”
Jordana gave him an evil grin. “Okay, we’re off! Watch us fly!” and she asked Stormy to move into an immediate trot.
Slade smiled reluctantly as she moved her small mustang down the trail. In moments, Jordana had the horse in that elastic, floating trot that only Arabians could manage for miles on end. Giving his restive stallion a nudge with his heels, Slade let Thor eagerly take off in pursuit. He did not like being second to anyone and fought the bit.
Jordana moved in sync with her mare as she continued for five miles at a floating trot. It was a hard trot to ride well. Lucky for her, her thighs had been molded by fifty-mile rides for the past year, so it wasn’t much of an effort for her. Just knowing Slade was behind her made her smile for no reason. Her focus was on the terrain up in front of them. When they hit the first steep, forested hill, Stormy lunged easily up the dirt path. She moved into a walk to a regular trot when the landscape allowed it. The area was strewn with fallen logs and branches from the surrounding trees. Stormy easily leaped over them. Never once did she balk, skid to a stop and refuse to jump. Jordana knew that the top endurance horses were fearless and would attempt to jump without balking. She patted Stormy’s wet, gleaming neck as they trotted down and across to the next hill.
As she leaned back in the saddle as Stormy skidded down the second steep slope, Jordana laughed out loud. The warmth of the July day, the strong scent of pine in the air, the wind moving past her face all conspired to give her a sense of freedom she loved so much. At the base of the hill, she leaned forward, and Stormy immediately broke into a controlled canter. For the next two miles, they were on flat but uneven ground. Ahead of her, she saw the slope of another mountain. This one would be different. Jordana knew that trees that had been cut down, their stumps thrusting warningly above ground, were a special hazard to a fast-moving horse and rider.
She had expected Slade to stop her at the slope, but he remained behind her. Okay, no problem. She urged Stormy up the steep, twisting trail. Rocks were here and there, and the mustang expertly stepped over and around them. Stumps were always a special danger. Forest rangers or timber companies had come in and cut the pines down and left the stumps sticking up like spears ready to dig into her horse’s fine, thin legs. Stormy was at a trot, lunging upward, always alert, but Jordana had to be, too. She couldn’t just rely on her mare to see these dangerous obstacles coming up.
Giving Stormy her head, laying the reins on the horse’s neck, Jordana leaned forward over the withers to keep her mustang balanced as she negotiated the ever-curving, twisting, uphill trail. Stormy was breathing hard as they moved from sixty-five hundred feet in altitude to nearly nine thousand feet.
The trail was tricky, challenging and dangerous. Jordana forgot that Slade was behind and timing her. She’d traversed this type of terrain in other rides but not often. Stormy was proving more adept at it than she was. Her legs were strong and more than anything else, Jordana wanted to stay in balance as they hit the nine-thousand-foot level. The trail then dipped downward at a precarious angle. Jordana clamped her legs to the horse and leaned back, giving her full head, the reins lying down on her neck.
By the time they had hit the plain once more, Jordana urged Stormy into a canter toward the two hills. This was a rugged trail and as the mustang moved along, she realized the difference between level one and two endurance competition. This was brutal stuff. It asked everything of horse and rider.
At the gate that led to Slade’s ranch, Jordana pulled up. She looked around to see Thor at a gallop not far behind. The stallion was powerful, and he looked rested and as if he were just starting this competition. Slade rode like the master horseman he was. His lower body moved in perfect rhythm with the stallion while his upper body was completely quiet. Thor slowed to a trot and then a walk, snorting and tossing his head. He had beautiful light blue eyes, his forelock of mane long and covering them from time to time.
“Well? How did we do?” she asked, patting Stormy. The mare’s gray hair was wet and sleek.
He held up the time. “Not bad for a first run. You made it in one hour.” Giving Jordana a look of pride, he added, “And you did well, too.”
Glowing beneath his unexpected praise, Jordana dismounted and opened up the gate. “That’s a good time?”
Riding Thor, Slade moved through the opened gate.
“It’s good for a first time.”
Jordana shut and locked the gate. “I’m happy with it, then. That’s quite a test riding range you have,” she said as she remounted Stormy. They rode side by side at a walk.
“Your mare is typical mustang,” Slade said as they rode. “She’s used to negotiating all kinds of obstacles and doesn’t bat an eye at them.”
“I know,” Jordana said, running her fingers through her mare’s thick black mane. “She’s fearless.”
“So is her owner.”
Jordana felt as if Slade had lightly touched her. Praise didn’t come from him very often. “Thanks.”
“Maybe because you’re an emergency-room doc? You’re used to chaos and don’t get rattled?”
“I like your observations, Slade. You’re right, I’m a cool head when things get out of control around me.”
“You took those hills like a champ. Maybe I need to revise my opinion of you and that runt of a mustang you ride.” His mouth barely tipped into a smile.
Jordana laughed fully and reached out. She rested her fingers on his darkly haired arm for just an instant. When her fingers grazed his sunburned flesh, she felt his muscles leap instantly in response beneath her touch. Oh, she hadn’t meant to reach out like that. But she had. Jerking her hand back, she saw surprise and then sudden darkness come to his narrowing gray eyes. Her flesh prickled with a delicious sense that he was stripping her with his intense gaze. Gulping unsteadily, Jordana knew what she’d read in those intense, large eyes of his. What had just happened? There was no room in her life for a man right now. She was working twelve to fourteen hours a day trying to make ends meet.
Slade was surprised at Jordana’s warm, graceful fingers wrapping momentarily around his forearm. It had been completely unexpected. He felt helpless to remain immune to her spontaneity and childlike innocence. And that was how he saw Jordana. Oh, Slade knew she was thirty years old and life had erased the innocence from her, but somehow, she had kept some of it. He hadn’t, he realized. He was so dark and glum in comparison to her light, sunny smiles she shared with him. And every time Jordana’s mouth curved upward, Slade’s heart pumped a little harder. Right now, he felt boiling heat building in his lower body; a sure sign of pleasure and more…
“A horse can trot anywhere from ten to seventeen miles per hour,” he said, becoming taciturn. No way did he want Jordana to touch
him again. If she did, Slade wasn’t sure he could control his reaction to her the next time around. “Your mare at her float trot was doing seventeen, which is good.” He picked up his timer and showed it to her. “Your canter was about twenty miles an hour and that’s excellent.”
“Heck,” Jordana said, making sure she kept her hands on the reins, “Stormy has never been timed like this before. I know thoroughbreds can race at forty miles per hour. And quarter horses can run fifty in a quarter of a mile race.”
“Yes,” Slade said, “they can. But in endurance contests, you want to save up that burst of speed for the finish line. This is all about understanding the speeds of your horse and then rating her such that you have something left in her tank for the finish line.” He reached down and patted Thor. “Here in the Tetons Fifty race in September, after you get off the mountains, you have a flat, five-mile run to the finish.”
“That’s a long ways,” Jordana said, sobering over that information. “I know if you let the horse run hard in the steep areas, then they will likely have little gas left for that last run to the finish. Usually, it’s one or two miles, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Slade said. He’d silently enjoyed when their legs had brushed against one another on the narrow trail between the pastures. It hadn’t been often, but he’d liked it. Maybe a little too much. Forcing himself to stay on topic, he added, “The Tetons Fifty has one of the longest finishes in the business. If you don’t rate your horse’s energy in the mountain climbs, you won’t have anything left on the final run.”
Giving Thor an admiring look, Jordana said wistfully, “Your stallion is such an incredible animal! He barely looked damp from that fifteen-mile run. Look at Stormy.” She ran her fingers down the mare’s wet, glistening neck.
“I ride Thor fifty miles once a week,” Slade told her. “So this fifteen miles is like a warm-up to him.”
Shaking her head, Jordana said, “He’s in magnificent condition.” And so was his master. But she kept that comment to herself. Both man and animal were hard-muscled, brimming with explosive energy and power. Perhaps, Jordana surmised, that is what drew her to Slade. His masculine power. She could not remember one time when she’d ever met a man like him. Confidence oozed from Slade like honey she wanted to taste. Body hardened by living in the harsh Wyoming climate, he exuded energy like the sun itself. She loved being drenched by that invisible sunlight that pulsed around him. It made her feel ultrafeminine. And now, she’d actually touched him. His arm was like finely honed steel, the muscles leaping to life as she’d grazed him. Her fingertips still tingled from that contact.
The Last Cowboy Page 6
