Warrior's Prize (Panorama of the Old West Book 15)

by Georgina Gentry

  What a strange question, Wannie thought. “My mother,” she said.

  “And very rich?” The Irish girl asked as she brushed.

  “That’s not a proper remark,” Wannie said as she stared into the mirror and into the girl’s hostile eyes.

  “Excuse me, miss, I totally forgot meself.” Now she was almost fawning in a way that made Wannie very uncomfortable. “We poor Irish are just curious about how the other half lives.”

  “It’s not important,” Wannie said. “My adoptive parents have the wealth—some gold mines.”

  “Ahh!” That seemed to mollify the girl. “I do hope you won’t report me to the Brewsters, ma’am. I need this position, at least for awhile longer.”

  “It’s already forgotten,” Wannie said and waved her away. “I can finish my own hair, thank you.”

  The girl curtsied and scurried out of the room.

  Wannie pulled her long black hair back and tied it with a ribbon. When she surveyed herself in a full-length mirror, she was pleased with what she saw; she did look like she belonged with the wealthy hunting crowd, in her red jacket, full black skirt, and shiny riding boots. She wouldn’t want to embarrass Cleve among his own friends.

  A rap came at the door. “Wannie, are you ready?”

  “Yes, Alexa,” she said and hurried to open it. “This is so exciting! What a July Fourth this is going to be!”

  The pair ran lightly down the stairs and into the large entry hall where Cleve and Keso waited. Cleve was fetching in his dapper red coat and riding breeches, but Keso wore only a pair of pants, his shirt, and boots.

  Alexa linked her arm with Keso’s. “You’re so handsome, it doesn’t matter what you wear.”

  Keso smiled at the pert blonde. “Thank you, Miss Alexa. Let’s go out to the horses, shall we?”

  “Let’s!”

  The two turned and strode toward the veranda, leaving Wannie and Cleve looking after them. Why had she never noticed how tall and masculine her foster brother was? She could almost see the muscles ripple under his shirt and the way Alexa was clinging to his arm so possessively annoyed Wannie no end.

  “He’s going to be laughed at, you know.” Cleve seemed annoyed.

  Wannie shrugged. “He can’t help it if he doesn’t own the proper outfit.”

  “That doesn’t seem to make any difference to Alexa,” he snapped. “I think she’s set her cap for him.”

  “So?”

  “It just won’t do,” Cleve muttered, “having a savage—”

  “What?” Wannie’s temper flared, but perhaps she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “I’m sorry, my dear.” He took her hand and kissed it, once again the smooth, polished gentleman. “I’m out of sorts this morning.”

  “A lot of people seem to be,” Wannie answered, feeling a little better with his apology. “Even the maid was snappy.”

  “Who? Maureen? I’ll speak to her,” he declared, his blue eyes peering into Wannie’s dark ones. “What did she say?”

  “Never mind, it’s not important, and don’t you dare scold her. Poor thing’s trying to make a living.”

  “Oh, Wannie, you’re so—so democratic!” Cleve kissed the tip of her nose.

  In the first dawn of the warm holiday morning, a bugle blew outside and the dogs set up a clamor.

  “We’d better go.” Cleve looked Wannie over with evident appreciation. “Egad, but you’re lovely in that outfit. Do you ride well?”

  “Not bad,” Wannie smiled up at him, “but not nearly so well as Keso.”

  Cleve’s lips crinkled at the corners as if he knew a secret joke. “We’ll just see how well big brother rides.”

  “I do hope you two are going to be friends,” Wannie said as she took his arm and they walked toward the veranda.

  “Of course, my dear. Why, he’s the one who’s hostile. I’ve been trying to be nice to him just to make you happy!”

  They went outside where they were greeted by a large, boisterous crowd of wealthy local landowners, all mounted, hounds running about, grooms scurrying with last minute chores. Mr. Brewster sat a big gray steed, visiting with the local gentry. Mrs. Brewster was playing the perfect hostess, greeting prominent riders as they arrived while the servants hurried to serve a final bracing stirrup cup of liquor before the chase began. Through the French doors, Wannie could see servants setting up tables for the lavish after-hunt breakfast that would be served when the riders returned.

  An older, blond man led a dainty bay mare forward. “Be you, Miss Wannie? I’m Ian O’Hearn, the head groom. Here’s your mount.”

  “Oh, what a beautiful mare!” Wannie reached to pat the velvet muzzle even as Keso and Cleve both seemed to jostle each other for the privilege of offering a hand up to the sidesaddle. Then Keso seemed to remember his place and stepped back reluctantly to help the now pouting Alexa to her chestnut mount.

  Cleve swing up on a fine sorrel stallion. “Ian, did you saddle up Black Prince for our other guest as I instructed?”

  “Mr. Cleve …” The hesitation showed in the groom’s blue eyes, and when he frowned, the cleft in his chin deepened. “That’s an awful spirited stallion, he is—”

  “I said Black Prince, Ian,” Cleve’s eyes were as cold as his voice. “Mr. Evans says he can ride, so we’d all like to see if he’s telling the truth.”

  A murmur and nervous laughter ran through the crowd as the Irish groom turned away, shaking his head. “One of you boys bring him up, then.”

  Wannie caught her breath as two boys brought the big, black horse down the path. It was not quite as big as Spirit, Keso’s stallion back home. This thoroughbred had two grooms hanging onto the bridle as it snorted, trying to rear and paw the air.

  Mr. Brewster frowned at his son. “Cleve, you aren’t serious!”

  “Cleve,” Alexa protested, “that horse—”

  “Will be a great mount for an accomplished rider,” Cleve said and he smiled at Keso. “Of course, if he’s too much horse for Keso, we have several old geldings that the ladies aren’t using today.”

  The crowd grew quiet except for a slight, excited murmur. Wannie’s breath caught in her throat; Keso’s manhood was being challenged. She looked toward Mrs. Brewster for help, but that plump matron had returned inside to oversee the setting up of the hunt table. Keso was a good rider, but this horse looked like a killer.

  Even as she started to protest, Keso strode forward. “This mount looks fine to me,” he announced to the crowd, “I’ll take him. Hold his head, Ian, please.”

  The cleft in the Irishman’s chin deepened as he frowned. Then he sighed and stepped forward to take the bridle. When Keso attempted to mount, the big black whinnied in protest and reared, lifting the groom off the ground while the hunt crowd murmured and laughed.

  “I like a horse with spirit,” Keso said in a loud voice, “since I intend to be in the front of the pack.”

  “Governor,” Ian murmured, “you’ll be a lucky bloke if you’re not under it!”

  The crowd laughed and Keso laughed with them as he swung into the saddle.

  The big stallion snorted and tried to rear again.

  “Let him go, Ian,” Keso said. “I can handle him from here.”

  Wannie watched with admiration as Keso sat the horse. The unruly stallion danced about, but Keso sat the saddle as if he’d been born to it, looking masculine and magnificent even without a red coat. She heard a murmur of appreciation run through the crowd and the women riders were all looking at him with soft eyes. Wannie heard the whispers: Who is that handsome, tall rider who isn’t properly dressed? A relative of young Cleve’s intended, I hear. Doesn’t he know that horse has killed a man?

  Wannie felt her blood run cold. She glanced over at Alexa with a question in her eyes, and the blonde nodded—yes, it was true.

  Wannie opened her mouth to protest, to shame Cleve for his cruel joke, but Keso had evidently read her intention because he signaled her to keep silent. The big stallion pranced about,
yet Keso handled him easily. “I hope I’m not holding up the hunt,” he said and smiled a challenge at Cleve.

  “Not at all,” Cleve said. “Father, are we ready?”

  Mr. Brewster looked over the black horse as if he thought he should say something. “If our guests are.” He signaled the master of the hounds, who blew his horn again. The hounds bounded away across the rolling pasture, baying loudly. Immediately, the well-trained horses set off at a trot after the hounds. Keso handled the spirited black horse well, Wannie thought with relief as he rode to the front of the crowd and fell in next to Cleve.

  Alexa rode next to her as their horses began to trot. “I guess I can forget riding next to your brother; it seems there’s going to be a little contest.”

  “I’m seeing a side to Cleve I’ve never seen before.” Wannie reached to spread her long skirt across her saddle so that it swept almost to the ground.

  Alexa laughed and turned an admiring eye on Keso’s broad back. “And I’m seeing a side to your brother I’ve not seen before. Cleve’s very competitive and the best rider in the county—everyone knows that.”

  “He’s never ridden against Keso,” Wannie said with confidence as she settled herself into a slow canter. The horses left the vast lawn of the estate and started across the rolling pasture. “My brother may not know anything about fox hunting, but no one can beat him as a rider.”

  Alexa stared after the broad back as the riders topped a hill and started down the other side. “It really was a dirty trick to give your brother that stallion. Black Prince has stomped a groom to death and nearly killed the last rider foolish enough to take him on the hunt.”

  Wannie felt a chill run through her, yet she was confident of Keso’s ability in the saddle. It dawned on her that she was pulling for him to win and she felt a bit guilty, thinking she ought to root for her fiance.

  About that time, the hounds picked up the scent and set up a howling chorus as they dashed madly across the meadows. The horses took off at a gallop, too, and Wannie had no more time to think about anything except keeping her own seat. She was an expert rider, but back in Colorado, she always rode astride wearing Keso’s old pants and shirts; it was difficult to sit a sidesaddle.

  Her heart beating hard in the cool morning, Wannie stayed in the middle of the pack, enjoying the ride and the exhilaration of the chase. They took a low hedge, then a brook, her little bay mare running easily. She glanced over at Alexa. “Great horse!”

  “It’s the bloodlines!” Alexa shouted back as they galloped on. “Nothing quite so important!”

  They crossed the pasture and leaped a low fence, the hounds’ baying echoing through the warm morning. Alexa yelled to get her attention, then pointed up ahead.

  Wannie looked. Sure enough, Keso was handling the black stallion with a superb hand as he rode neck and neck with Cleve, the other young blades strung out behind them as hounds and horses raced after the prey.

  Over the brooks and fences they went, her heart seeming to stop each instant her mare left the ground, then starting again as the dainty mount landed on the other side and kept running. Around them, horses stumbled or riders fell as a mount refused a jump. Others, the horses tiring and lathered or the rider less skilled or enthused, dropped out to watch the merry chase from the sidelines.

  Across the rolling meadows the hunt thundered, spotted hounds baying, the pack thinning as horses fell or refused a jump. Yet in the lead, Cleve and Keso still rode neck and neck.

  Up ahead, Wannie saw a big stone wall and she felt a sinking feeling. Most of the horses would never clear that. She glanced over at Alexa, who signaled her that most would swing through the open gate only a few yards down the fence. With a sigh of relief, she reined her mare to do so. Even as she did, she looked toward the wall. In front of the pack, many of the young dandies were reining their mounts away but Keso and Cleve were headed straight for it.

  Her breath seemed to catch in her throat as she watched. The wall was high and solid stone; a horse and rider could be killed if they failed that jump. At the last possible moment, she saw Cleve hesitate, then rein his big sorrel toward the open gate. Keso, instead, leaned forward in the saddle and urged Black Prince on.

  No! She almost screamed it out, but her voice caught in her throat as Keso urged the big horse into the jump and it left the ground. For a heart-stopping moment, man and horse seemed to hang in mid-air and she heard the moan go up in throats around her.

  Oh, Keso, I don’t want you to be hurt! I don’t—and then the stallion cleared the wall with inches to spare and landed on the other side, still running.

  A cheer went up from the crowd that had reined in to watch and Keso turned the lathered horse and swung it back around at a slow trot, acknowledging the cheers with a modest nod of his head.

  Only Cleve did not cheer. “The hunt’s not over yet!” he shouted, and lashed his horse savagely, taking off again after the disappearing hounds. The rest of the hunt group took up the chase again, but at a slower pace.

  “Wannie, your brother is superb!” Alexa sighed, staring after Keso as she trotted her horse through the open gate in pursuit of the others.

  Yes, isn’t he? Wannie thought with quiet pride, then felt a twinge of guilt. She should have been cheering for Cleve; after all, he was going to be her husband. She pushed the guilt to the back of her mind as she nudged the little mare forward and joined in the hunt.

  Up ahead, Cleve and Keso were once again side by side and in hot pursuit of the hounds, who seemed to have cornered their prey up in the rocks of a hill ahead. The first rider there would be awarded the brush if they caught the fox, but she sensed the intense rivalry between those two had nothing to do with a fox. It puzzled Wannie.

  A low wall lay ahead. She saw some horses clearing it, others refusing. She might have turned her own horse aside if she had kept her mind on her riding, but she was concentrating on the pair of men galloping toward the hunt finish where the dogs barked and bayed around that rock pile.

  “Look out, Wannie!” She heard Alexa scream a warning, but even as she felt her little mare refuse the jump, it was already too late. Wannie tried to regain her seat, but she’d lost her balance. In that split-second as she flew from the saddle, Wannie saw both men look back over their shoulders. Then the ground rushed up to meet her and she landed hard.

  Wannie lay there in a tumble of skirts, her eyes closed. She knew she ought to get up, but the confusion and neighing horses seemed very far away and she was not sure she could stand. Surely Cleve would return to carry her back to the house. Nothing would matter to him but her safety; he wouldn’t care who won the brush.

  “Wannie?” came Alexa’s distant voice. “Are you all right?”

  She felt scratched and bruised and the grass beneath her face smelled fresh and green in the morning heat. She didn’t answer because it seemed to take too much effort even to open her eyes.

  She heard the sound of a horse galloping up, then the creak of a saddle as a rider dismounted. Strong arms cradled her, brushing the curls from her forehead. She felt safe now, safe and secure in this muscular embrace. It was so wonderful to have a man who loved her this much.

  Cleve? Very slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into Keso’s worried face.

  “Wannie? Are you all right? Speak to me!”

  She reached up to touch his dear, dark face. “Keso? You—you didn’t get the brush?”

  “To hell with the brush!” he muttered, then he swung her up in his arms. “I think I’d better get you back to the house.”

  She saw Cleve gallop up just then. “Is she all right?”

  “What do you care?” Keso snapped. “You got the fox, didn’t you?”

  “As a matter of fact, it got away,” Cleve said, seeming quite annoyed. “Here, let me take her.”

  “No,” Keso said, “I’ll carry her.”

  In a daze, Wannie saw the peering, curious faces gathered around as Keso strode across the meadow toward Black Prince. She had forgo
tten how strong and confident Keso was. Even when she was small, he always looked after her. Cleve had returned, too, she reminded herself.

  Only the tiniest part of her mind remembered that Cleve had made sure the fox was gone before he returned to see about her. Well, he knew everyone else had stopped and she was already being cared for, Wannie thought.

  Keso swung up on the horse, cradling her gently in his strong arms. She laid her face against his broad chest and looked up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “It’s that damned sidesaddle,” he said. “You aren’t used to it. You’ve always been a great rider, Wannie. Let’s get you back to the house.”

  “I’m fine,” she protested.

  “No, you’re not and I’m taking you back.”

  “You sound exactly like you did the time I stepped on a fish hook all those years ago.”

  “Some things never change,” he said.

  “Well, pretty soon, I’ll have a husband and you won’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  He frowned and didn’t say anything. Holding her very close against him as he rode, she could hear his heart beating. She felt small and cherished and safe in his embrace. Funny, she had never really thought of him as a man before, only as a big brother who saddled ponies, pushed her swing, and allowed her to tag after him when he went fishing or exploring the wild mountains around their home. However, she was a grown woman now and soon, Keso would find a wife and Wannie could no longer trail after him or expect him to pick stickers out of her toes or help her up in a tree she wasn’t big enough to climb. Right now, he looked lost in thought—and grim.

  “Keso, what are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You have to be thinking something,” she insisted. “You look mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “You look mad.”

  “Okay—have it your way, brat.”

  “I’m getting a little old for you to call me that.”

  “Don’t I know it!” He looked even grimmer.

  “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” He looked straight ahead as he rode, his eyes fixed on the horizon.