Lark lowered her lashes. “Your mother’s a teacher?” Would Matt poke fun at her inability to grasp numbers just as her own teacher had?
“A very good one,” Matt stressed gently, seeing fear war with indecision in her eyes. “She had a lot of patience and I’d like to think she passed that trait on to me.””
Lark moved restlessly toward the door. She halted, staring blindly out into the hall. In a choked voice she admitted, “I have great trouble with words and numbers.”
Matt heard the hopelessness in her voice. Even her once proud posture now shouted of rejection. “What kind of trouble, Lark?”
“I, uh, was asked to leave the seventh grade because I couldn’t read or write properly. My father tried to teach me instead. He couldn’t, but I tried to make up for it by using my good memory. I know history and geography well.” Lark made a weak gesture with her hands and stared at the wooden floor between her feet. “I see numbers and letters backward, sometimes. I think Miss Somerset was right, I’m too stupid to learn.”
Matt’s mouth became a grim line. He limped around the bed and halted within a foot of where she stood uncertainly. “My mother taught children who had the same problem you have, Lark.”
She looked up, drowning in his understanding gray eyes. “Pindah children have that problem, too?”
“Yes. You’re not stupid, Lark,” he told her quietly. “If Miss Somerset said that, she ought to be kicked out of the teaching profession.”
“Others see numbers and letters backward?” she whispered, hope flaring.
His heart lifted as her expression filled with hope and joy. “My mother discovered that children who have that problem are often brighter and more creative in other ways. I’d say you’re a very intelligent young woman. I can see it in your eyes and hear it in your use of words.”
Her heart pounded with a fierce euphoria, so that words failed her. It was only when she felt his hand settle on her shoulder that she finally responded.
“You have a deal, Matt Kincaid,” she said hoarsely.
He removed his hand. “All right. How about if I finish studying your present financial situation now, and late this afternoon, I’ll begin teaching you sums. By the time I’m healed up, you should have a good grasp of numbers and how to set up a budget.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
Late that afternoon, Lark waited while Matt placed both ledgers and bankbooks in front of her. She was wildly aware of him when he sat down next to her at the large desk, but her hunger to know of the ranch’s solvency outweighed her uneasiness at sharing such close quarters with him.
“First of all,” he told her, opening the first book, “you’ve made a double mortgage payment for the month of May.”
She scowled, studying the numbers and the initials where he pointed. “Then Cameron was lying to me! He owns the bank in Prescott and said my father did not pay this month’s mortgage. I told him he did, but I had no way to prove it.”
Anger simmered in Matt, but he kept it out of his voice. “There’s a procedure at most banks, Lark. When you pay money toward the mortgage, you not only get a payment slip, but also, the clerk will initial the bankbook and put in the amount you’ve given him. See here? There’s the initials W.B. and one hundred dollars after it.”
“W.B. stands for Willy Bradford. He’s the young clerk in the bank.”
“Yes, and your father put that mortgage money in on this date.” Matt traced his finger down one line. “And here you’ve given the bank another hundred less than two weeks later.”
Angry, she muttered, “Cameron lied to me. The snake!” She turned to Matt, hands spread. “But how can I make Cameron give me my extra hundred dollars back? I can use that money to help pay for supplies I have to get again.”
Matt sat quietly, mulling over several options. For the next couple of months, he wouldn’t be able to ride a horse, but now he saw an important chance to start helping to repay her for saving his life. “While I’m healing up, let me help you in any way I can. Next time, I’ll go into Prescott with you.”
Her eyes widened. “You will?”
“Why not? I also happen to be the son of a bank owner. I used to be a clerk before the war. There’s no one better to talk to this Cameron fella than me.”
Worry wrinkled her brow as she considered his proposal. “He’s evil, Matt. And dangerous…”
“Let’s not worry about that right now. I want to show you how to get that three hundred dollars back.” Without meaning to, he responded to Lark’s tremulous voice. She’d called him by his first name for the first time. God help him, but he had to try and stay his distance.
Lark hunched over the books and ledgers, barely able to contain her eagerness. She wanted to throw her arms around Matt Kincaid and thank him for finding that one bank error. She stole a look at him out of the comer of her eyes.
Matt pointed to the second ledger. “Your father was a good businessman, Lark. He’s got fifteen yearlings out there, according to this account, that he knew could be broken and sold off to the cavalry in case there was ever a need for emergency funds.”
Fifteen two-year-olds. She scowled and sat back. “That’s true but…”
“What?”
Lark got up, crossing her arms over her breasts. “They aren’t broken. I can’t get twenty dollars a head unless they are.”
“So?”
She sighed, her happiness dissolving. “I have fifteen wranglers and they’re all busy finding our mustang mares out there.” She motioned toward the mountains that surrounded the grassy valley. “For the next three months this ranch will devote twelve hours a day to locating the mares, foaling them, and then rebreeding them to one of our two stallions.” She chewed on her lip. “After they’re bred, we’ll turn them loose to graze the valley and mountains for the rest of the year until it’s time to foal again.”
Matt leaned back in the chair, looking thoughtful. “You’re saying you don’t have an extra hand who can break out those fifteen colts?”
“I’d do it myself, but I’ll be busy either wrangling or helping in the broodmare barn. Finding those mares now is the most important thing to the survival of our ranch. We need forty to fifty foals each year to ensure us enough operating money for the next year. I just can’t spare a wrangler to break those colts.”
He nodded, understanding Lark’s problem. The extra hundred dollars that had been paid on the mortgage would be needed for supplies. It couldn’t be used to pay more wranglers.
“Cameron would gloat like a wolf if he heard us talking like this,” Lark muttered.
“Why?”
“Because he wants me to lose this ranch. He said no woman could run one by herself.”
Matt toyed with the fountain pen. “You’ve got a good foreman?”
“Yes. Paco. But—“she rubbed her brow” I’m afraid he doesn’t always listen to me. I know so little of the ranching operation. My father put me in charge of taking care of the broodmares and foals, that was all.”
Matt saw trouble ahead for Lark. A lot of it. He gently deflected her other concerns and returned to the present problem. “Cameron isn’t the type to accept defeat.”
Lark gave him a quizzical look. “You sound as if you know Cameron.”
“I know his kind,” Matt amended. It galled him to see Lark defeated. Her eyes were now dark with worry. “Look, let’s take this one step at a time,” he soothed. “In another couple of days, after my leg is better, hitch up the buckboard and I’ll go into Prescott and solve this mortgage problem for you. I can pick up the supplies then, too.”
Fear gripped Lark. “Bo Shanks will be there.”
“What’s he got to do with this?”
“He’s the one who beat me up. He’ll stalk me again.”
“I don’t think so.”
Matt studied her for a long moment. “Given that new piece of information, I think you should stay here.”
Lark compressed her lips, staring down at him. “I’m g
oing with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am, too!” Lark jabbed her finger down at the books. “This is my problem and my responsibility, Matt. I’m not going to stay away from Prescott like a cowering dog.” She paced the length of the office, her eyes burning with anger. “This time, I’ll go in armed. This time Shanks won’t dare—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Matt warned her. He saw Lark draw herself up, shoulders thrown back, a feral glimmer in her eyes. Softening his voice, he said, “It would be better if you stayed behind.”
“I will not. This is my ranch—”
“I know, your responsibility.” He eyed her in the gathering silence. “Do you have a dress?”
Lark gawked. “A what?”
“A dress,” Matt repeated patiently.
Heat stung her cheeks and Lark stared down at her feet. “Yes. Why?”
“If you’re going to insist on coming with me, I want you to wear one.”
Her eyes blazed and she lifted her chin. “So I can look like a white woman?”
She was so damned petulant. A child one moment, a woman the next. “No. So you won’t draw so much attention to yourself like you did last time.”
Gasping, Lark stormed up to the desk and laid her hands flatly against it. “Two years ago, I wore a white woman’s dress into Prescott and it did no good at all! The children threw stones and called me names. Shanks mauled me. I’m Apache. And among my people, I don’t have to wear a skirt or blouse if I don’t want to. They accept me as I am. You whites—”
“Whoa, Lark,” he warned, holding up a hand. “Marching into Prescott looking like an Apache warrior will annoy the hell out of those townspeople. They’re scared of the Indians, you know that. And by riding in there dressed like one, you stirred up a hornet’s nest.”
Dark, consuming anger filled Lark. With a cry, she turned her back on him. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d worn the prettiest dress from Madam Bouchard’s Dress Shop, they would still have attacked me this last time!”
Matt ignored the pain in his leg as he walked to within inches of where Lark stood. “Children can be irresponsible, Lark. Shanks is another matter. I think if you try to fit in, you’ll get less of a reaction from the townspeople.”
“No.”
“Did anyone else treat you badly?”
Stubbornly, she admitted, “No.”
He sighed. “Listen to me, Lark. Don’t confuse the pranks of a few schoolchildren, or the despicable behavior of Bo Shanks, with the attitudes of the general populace. Give them a chance?”
She pouted, hotly aware of his body so close to her own. “You don’t want to believe their hatred of me!”
“I believe there are good people and bad people of all races, Lark.”
“Wait until you meet Cameron and Shanks. You’ll change your mind then,” she muttered.
“Turn around and look at me.”
Her back stiffened.
Matt sighed. “Lark, you’re going to have to trust me.”
She whirled around. “Trust? How can you ask me to trust you?”
Matt gazed down at her anguished features, feeling her pain. Without thinking, he placed his hands on her proud shoulders. “Listen to me, Lark. Your parents are gone and so is the protection they gave you. Your father shielded you from his world. I don’t know why he didn’t encourage you in his ways.”
“Because he saw the pain I endured at pindah hands when I went to school in Prescott, that’s why,” she whispered rawly.
Matt winced. He wanted to caress Lark’s uninjured cheek and whisper that everything would be all right.
His touch sent a spiraling ache through her. She wanted simply to lean her throbbing head against his massive chest and once again feel his arms about her.
He forced a slight smile. “You can deal from a position of strength with those people in Prescott. Remember, they knew your father, not you. If you give them a reason to respect instead of fear you, then part of the battle will be won.”
“H-how do I get pindahs to respect me?”
Matt looked deeply into her eyes. “Trust me enough to do as I ask this one time?”
Hesitating, torn by old hurts, Lark moved away. Several seconds passed before she answered, “Give me one reason why I should trust you.”
“Because I owe you my life,” Matt returned huskily. “And I want to set things right between us, Lark. I wouldn’t repay a debt by hurting the person who saved my hide.”
She considered his reason, feeling nakedly alone in a situation far beyond her experience. “All right,” she uttered tiredly, “I’ll do as you ask.”
“Good. Today’s Tuesday. Come next Monday, you, me, and your foreman Paco will ride into Prescott. And I want you to wear a dress.”
A dress. Lark darkly pondered Matt’s request for the rest of the day. She was busy out in the broodmare barn, and then later took the red sorrel stallion, Kentucky, for his daily ride. In the afternoon, she saw Matt Kincaid out by the breaking corral, looking over the sturdy two-year-olds that would have to be broken in order to earn back the lost three hundred dollars. Putting all her worries out of her mind, she allowed Kentucky to stretch his long legs as she raced on his bare back, lost to the joy of the wind tearing past her.
Returning to the yard, Lark slid off Kentucky and gave him a well-deserved pat of praise. The stallion snorted and nipped playfully at her outstretched hand. Paco’s eldest son, Ramone, ran up and took the reins. He would walk the stud to cool him down before putting him in his stall. Brushing her hands against her thighs, Lark felt reborn by the ride. As she crossed the yard dotted with scattered chickens, she saw Matt sitting on the front porch.
Her heart pounded briefly as she endured his intense inspection. Maria was sitting nearby, mending clothes and rocking contentedly.
“That’s a fine animal,” Matt complimented, watching as Lark slowly mounted the steps, unable to tear his gaze from her tall, lithe form. Despite the male clothes she wore, there was a smoldering sensuality about her that simmered just beneath the surface. Her eyes danced with an inner joy. Her mouth, usually compressed with worry, was full and inviting.
Lark melted beneath Matt’s burning gaze. “Thank you. You should see some of Kentucky’s foals out in the broodmare barn. They’re exact images of him.”
Matt nodded. “I was out there while you were riding. I can see why the cavalry would pay top dollar for your stock. He’s a fine breeding animal.”
Pleasantly exhausted by the ride, Lark sat down on the last step, resting her elbows against her knees. Why was she hungry for Matt’s closeness? And why did his praise mean so much to her?
“Jud Cameron has been itching to claim Kentucky for years,” she continued. “My father would never allow that snake to breed any of his mares to Kentucky.”
“If you’ve got a powerful stud like that, you want to control what he breeds to,” Matt agreed.
Lark twisted her head in his direction. “You understand!”
Grinning, he said, “Sure, why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, I mean, you aren’t Irish like my father, are you?”
Matt laughed. “No, stubborn Scot mixed with my mother’s French blood. See? I’m a half-breed, too.”
She colored fiercely and turned away. “It’s not the same.”
“No?” Matt teased gently.
“No!”
“What’s the difference? My father came from a country called Scotland and my mother from a country known as France. You couldn’t get two more opposite types together. My father is a stubborn cuss who is as shrewd as the day is long.”
Fascinated, Lark turned, resting her back up against the rail of the porch. “And your mother?”
He smiled. “Fiery and hot-tempered. They came from different continents, met here in America, and got married.”
“Did they fight all the time?”
He grinned rakishly. “No. My father would lay down the law and my mother would b
lithely go about subtly changing his mind.” Matt laughed. “Her name’s Desiree, which means desire.”
Lark stared up at him, digesting this new and fascinating information. “So you really are half and half. Are French women the same color as Scot men?”
Matt chuckled. He liked the way her mind worked. Lark had been protected here on a ranch ringed by mountains. Her father had not allowed her to integrate with the white world, for whatever his reasons. Matt longed to teach her of a far larger, broader world, instinctively realizing that Lark would welcome the knowledge. “Scots are a very fair-skinned people.” He pointed to his face. “I have my mother’s darker, olive-colored skin. She was born very close to Italy, and some of her descendants came from there.”
“And do you have many brothers and sisters?”
“Two younger brothers who were both killed in the Civil War,” Matt said, sobering. “I also have three younger sisters. All hellions.”
“Because they have your mother’s fiery blood and not your father’s?”
“Precisely,” Matt said, laughing.
Lark pondered their conversation, resting her chin on her drawn-up knees. “And did others hate you because you are half Scot and half French?”
“A few did.”
“And what did you do about it?”
“Ignored them.” Matt gently held Lark’s luminous eyes. “My mother always told us children that it didn’t matter what our lineage was. What counted was what was inside our hearts. She said not to judge a person by his color or the country he came from.”
“Your mother is a wise woman,” Lark said softly, closing her eyes. “The People believe the same thing.”
“Most people do, Lark.”
She lifted her lashes, feeling a stir of anger. “Not the people of Prescott.”
“I’ll bet if you started asking the citizens of Prescott where they came from, you’d find most of them are half-breeds, too.”
That was a provocative thought. And one that shook Lark’s assumptions. “Can this be so?”
“Most of the people coming to America today are what we call immigrants, Lark. They come from many countries overseas.”
Hostage Heart Page 13
