Love on the Range

by Jessica Nelson

  She dogged his heels. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “I’m simply…cautious. Yes, very careful. Horses are large and unpredictable.” She caught up to him and put a hand on his arm. He froze.

  “If you could help me a few more times, I’m sure I could be more comfortable.” She peered up at him, her big brown eyes earnest in the stable’s dimness. “That is, if you have time. You don’t have to, I mean…” She was stuttering now.

  The muscles in his stomach contracted. Her hand still lay on his arms, small and warm. She looked up at him and suddenly he wasn’t thinking clearly. A straw of hay clung to her hair. He bent forward, pulled it off and flicked it to the ground.

  She was so very close to him.

  “What made you scared of horses?” He looked her in the eyes, wanting her to face this truth.

  She squirmed but didn’t break his gaze. “My cousin’s horse threw me when I was ten. I’ve ridden very few times since then.” A faint blush suffused her cheeks, as though she was embarrassed to admit fear.

  Something very tender moved through him, squeezing his chest, making his throat constrict. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Everything in him pushed for more but he ended the exchange, jerking back.

  He hadn’t been thinking. Not one little bit.

  Her lips were parted, eyes wide.

  Then she grinned. “That was wonderful.”

  “Won’t be happening again.” At least he hoped not. This was bad, real bad.

  She stepped closer to him, her eyes alight.

  “You’re a nice girl, Gracie, but that was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?”

  “I’ll help you get comfortable with the horses but that won’t be happening again.” His eyes mocked her “You might want to go clean up—your cheeks are filthy.”

  There. He’d been rude again. Maybe she’d leave quickly. For a second he thought her face was going to pucker up and his chest tightened, but then her features smoothed out and she gave him a stiff nod.

  “Thank you for your help. I certainly can’t find Striker without a mode of transportation.” With that parting comment, she flounced out of the stables.

  Groaning, he turned to Honey in the stall and began unsaddling her. He hated to see someone afraid of horses, but helping Gracie was only going to make his life more difficult. In more ways than one.

  * * *

  “You and Trevor have been spending time together lately,” Mary commented one afternoon while she and Gracie scrubbed the kitchen floor.

  “He’s teaching me to ride.” Gracie leaned back on her heels and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Her knees ached from Uncle Lou’s hard Italian tiles and her palms were raw from the soapy water.

  Mary didn’t stop her brisk movements. “You don’t ride?”

  “I ride English style. He says he’s teaching me the real way. The Western way.” Gracie smiled.

  “Do you enjoy his company?” Mary asked.

  Gracie chewed her lower lip, Trevor’s quiet chuckles haunting her thoughts. “He’s quite serious, but when we’re out in the corral he manages to laugh a little. So yes, I suppose I do take pleasure in his lessons. Anyway, I’d like to ride into Burns today and I am going to talk him into it. A week in a corral is far too boring.”

  “That’s a long ride for a beginner.”

  “I’ve been riding every day.” Gracie sat back on her heels and observed the woman scour a spot with vigorous determination. She grinned. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you enjoy cleaning. How is that possible?”

  “You’ve only been scrubbing for twenty minutes.” Mary sounded amused, despite the accusation in her words.

  “It feels like days.”

  Mary laughed. “So,” she murmured. “Trevor seems more open about God now.”

  Gracie leaned forward and began swiping the floor with broad, wet strokes. “Did he tell you that?”

  “It’s the little things I’ve noticed. The way he doesn’t smirk when we pray at dinner. How he’s taken to looking at my Bible in the mornings.”

  Warmth surged through Gracie. “We talk a bit.”

  “You two are close, then?”

  “I don’t know about that,” she muttered, suddenly unnerved at the studied casualness of Mary’s questions. “I’m leaving after winter to go home. My parents and I will be traveling to Europe in the summer, assuming the war is over. My ex-beau, Hugh, just returned home and told my friend Connie the war is close to finished.”

  Mary glanced up. “You are no longer courting?”

  “No. My parents arranged an engagement without my consent, and I refused.”

  “I see.” Mary’s pretty lips twisted into a frown.

  Gracie saw the expression and tried to shove down her worry. Mary didn’t sound as if she saw at all. She sounded doubtful and that bothered Gracie. Surely Mary didn’t think she was leading Trevor on while being engaged to another man?

  She swirled her brush in the pail of water. Then she bent and continued at her chore. Water slopped over tile and the scratch of their brushes was the only sound in the otherwise silent kitchen.

  As they worked Gracie couldn’t help but think of Trevor. She really would like for him to kiss her again. What would he do if she just grabbed his face and planted a smooch on those serious lips?

  She really shouldn’t. After all, she had a life in Boston. Plays, shopping and friends. A budding journalism career. Now that she’d lost a little weight she even felt more confident. Trevor had said she was pretty, hadn’t he?

  Gracie stopped scrubbing for a second to rest her fingers.

  If only Uncle Lou owned a telephone. It would be comforting to call Connie and chat, or to phone her parents. Despite missing them, Gracie supposed it wasn’t so bad here. She enjoyed the wide spaces and endless sky, the jagged mountains and all the adventure they represented. She just missed human contact.

  Yes…it would be better to keep her distance from Trevor. After she finished her lessons. She glanced at the clock. Close to three. Trevor would be waiting for her.

  She gave one last scrub to the floor and then sat back on her heels. “I’m done,” she announced, stretching her hands above her head. “Time for a trip to town.” She winked at the other woman.

  Mary shook her head, a smile softening her features as she stood and toted her dirty bucket to the kitchen’s side door. She stepped outside and Gracie heard the muffled splash of water hitting the fine layer of snow that had fallen last night.

  Gracie followed her. “What are you going to do now?”

  “Oh, I have a baby blanket I’m knitting for the Dunways a few miles over.”

  “Ugh, knitting.” Gracie wrinkled her nose. “Have fun. I am off to explore Burns.”

  She traipsed across the acres that led to the stables. It was mid-October and last night’s snow had been the first of the season. Not much, just a dusting across the dry land, but old James kept predicting an ice storm. She sincerely hoped he was wrong because being stuck inside for days on end made her feel like choking.

  The rich scent of hay, leather and horse greeted her as soon as she entered the stables. Trevor stood in the center aisle, readying the horses. Her wool skirt swished between her legs as she ground to a halt. Something hitched in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

  His dark hair hung around his face and his hands moved with graceful purpose as he cinched the stirrups on the mare. Gracie closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and prayed the soft fluttering in her belly would go away. She didn’t need this now. What did it matter if he was funny and thoughtful, overly solemn sometimes? She did not want feelings for him. This experience was only high-spirited f
un. An exciting episode to share with Connie someday.

  She needed to find Striker. Needed to do something with her life other than live on her parents’ by-your-leave.

  She must focus on her only opportunity for freedom. An article with her name in the byline. She forced her booted feet forward and Trevor looked up at her approach, patting Honey’s caramel rump.

  “She’s ready to go,” he said, gaze locked on her. “It’s cold so we’ll make this lesson quick. You’ve pretty much got it down anyway.”

  Gracie let her hand slide over Honey’s nose, down her sleek neck. The horse whickered, pressing her mouth against Gracie’s jacket. She couldn’t help smiling. What a relief to no longer be afraid.

  “Sorry, Trevor.” She offered Honey her palm. “I had to bring her something.”

  “Sugar’s not good for their teeth.”

  “It’s just a little,” she crooned, enjoying the tickle of Honey’s lips against the base of her fingers.

  Hat tipped forward, he left her to ready his stallion.

  “That’s all, dear Honey.” The horse nuzzled Gracie and she patted her strong jaws with empty hands. “Maybe later I’ll sneak you a carrot.”

  Moving away from Honey’s front, she looked for Trevor and found him closer than she’d expected. His horse’s mighty hooves moved restlessly against the floor and a quiver ran through her. Remnants of a silly fear. She straightened and suppressed the urge to back away from Trevor’s beast of a horse.

  Honey nudged Gracie again and she smiled. Not all horses were beasts. She rested her face against Honey’s neck for a moment.

  “Stiffen that spine and let’s get on with it,” she called to Trevor as he finished saddling Butch.

  He glower at her. “Gracelyn, if you say that one more time I’ll inform Lou you regularly fix his account ledgers, do you understand?”

  “How do you know about that?” She bristled beneath his parental tone.

  “It’s not hard to figure out when numbers start slanting right instead of Lou’s hard left. No one but me and Lou go near those books.”

  “Threatening exposure is quite rude, Mr. Cruz. And I do not care for your tone at all. I’m not your daughter.”

  “That’s a blessing.”

  Gracie glared at him. He was far too arrogant for her liking. Before coming here, she’d always thought of herself as someone who avoided conflict as much as possible without compromising her standards. Trevor seemed to bring out an aggressive streak she did not care for.

  She gritted her teeth and tried to speak calmly. “Will you please help me up? You know I can’t mount in these clothes. I don’t understand why Uncle Lou won’t let me wear trousers. Dozens of girls are wearing them. They’re a perfectly acceptable form of attire.”

  Trevor stalked toward her, long legs eating up the ground between them. “Do your parents let you wear them?”

  “Well, no, but my parents are old-fashioned. Connie wears them all the time.”

  “I’m real tired of hearing about this Connie girl.” Trevor hovered over her and she couldn’t stop the little thrill that trickled down her spine. “Seems to me she’s a bad influence. Trousers,” he said with disgust. “It’s not right.”

  “Help me up,” Gracie said stiffly, ignoring his comment.

  Trevor hid his amusement beneath a cool smirk. He’d tossed out the trousers comment to rile her. Truth was, his version of right and wrong didn’t seem so clear cut anymore. He’d been reading the Bible a bit and found it hard to believe he’d persisted in hating God for so long.

  His daddy had done him wrong. Lots of folks had done him wrong, but now he saw that blaming God for actions people took made no logical sense at all. The perky woman in front of him inspired him, though he was reluctant to admit it.

  Mary told him she worked hard. In fact, Mary had a high opinion of Gracie overall, but cautioned him not to get too close since she was leaving after winter. An unnecessary warning. Gracie acted like a young girl most of the time, not a woman.

  He studied her closely. Her cheeks radiated health and the weight loss had only succeeded in emphasizing her heart-shaped face, lips the color of a rosebud and doe eyes.

  Okay, maybe he did react to her as a woman, even if he thought of her as a girl. Twenty was awfully young, he reminded himself as his hands settled on her hips. Too young for an almost-thirty-year-old man who’d seen and done things she couldn’t imagine. Besides, he didn’t want some debutante who missed the glamour of the big city. He was going to settle here, own a ranch, raise a family.

  A city girl wasn’t part of the plan.

  “Are you going to put me on that horse or stand there dillydallying all day?” Impatience and a hint of breathlessness tinged her voice.

  She grabbed the reins as he lifted her up.

  “I’d like to ride into Burns today,” she informed him from her lofty position. She sounded like the pampered socialite she was.

  “Absolutely not.” He met her eyes and hoped his expression was as forbidding as he wanted it to be.

  “Don’t be so stodgy,” she said. “Do you have a good reason for saying no?”

  Apparently he’d lost his ability to intimidate. He sighed and tightened the stirrups for good measure. “Two words—thirty degrees.”

  “I need to go to town before James’s ice storm rears its ugly head. Please?”

  “It’s too cold.”

  “I’m perfectly warm.”

  “It’s not safe.” Trevor threw on his heavy scarf and tossed Gracie an extra one from the coat rack. She caught it and wound it around her neck, covering her chin and nose. A mulish jut to the folds of cloth around her chin gave Trevor pause.

  As he watched, she nudged Honey to the door. “I’ll see you this evening.” With a shriek of glee she dug her heels into Honey’s flanks. He heard her gasp as the icy air ripped the laugh from her throat and flung it behind her.

  Biting back a curse, Trevor mounted Butch and spurred him forward. Wind whipped past as Trevor gained ground. She didn’t get far from the stables before he grabbed her reins and pulled Honey to a stop.

  “Keep it up and you’ll break your neck.” His heart knocked against his rib cage, warning him of the dangers this foolish girl put herself in just to find a man who didn’t deserve to be found.

  Gracie visibly stiffened in her saddle. “Yelling will not solve anything.” Snow softly fell, landing like powdered ice on her nose and eyelashes.

  “You’re crazy trying to go to Burns in this weather,” he said flatly.

  “I’ve waited long enough.”

  “We’ll go when it’s safe.”

  “Are you always this domineering?” she asked.

  “Common sense.”

  “Are you implying I have none?” Her eyes flashed. “I’m tired of your insinuations,” she snapped. “Your overbearing attitude toward me is wearying.”

  He started to speak but she interrupted. “The kiss you gave me does not give you the right to order me about. It was a mere brushing of the lips.”

  His scar thrummed with the beat of his pulse.

  “Mere?” he said softly, intently studying her.

  “Yes, nothing special.”

  They were nose to nose now, the horses standing patiently beneath them.

  “Let’s race,” Gracie suddenly blurted. “I’ve a need to expend energy.”

  “We’re not racing, got it?”

  Her chin lifted in that same stubborn way. “Don’t be a spoilsport!”

  Trevor’s heart almost stopped when she impulsively heeled Honey forward. He sprang into action but she was well ahead of him. Pounding hooves muffled his shout. Or maybe she ignored him.

  Hunkering down, he signaled Butch to
surge forward. Ahead of him, Gracie’s horse slipped, then righted herself. The ice had shown up, earlier than James said it would. Growling, Trevor urged Butch faster.

  He blinked snow from his eyes, and in that second, a shrill scream bit through the air.

  Chapter Nine

  Trevor bolted off Butch and rushed to where Gracie lay crumpled on the ground. Honey had scrambled up and galloped toward the stables, appearing unhurt. Snowflakes floated over Gracie’s body, settling and melting against her pale skin. Throat so tight he could barely draw a breath, Trevor knelt near her still form. He reached for her neck, checked her pulse.

  He was so tired of death, of watching the soul drain right out of a body.

  But Gracie’s lifeblood beat steadily against his fingers. He leaned back on his heels, finally gulping an icy, ragged breath as the muscles in his throat unclenched. White coatings of snow blanketed Gracie’s heavy jacket as he sucked in lungfuls of air. He brushed the flakes from her cheek, grateful for the warm breath whispering from her lips.

  He felt the back of her neck, touching each vertebra. Nothing seemed out of place there, but she could’ve hurt her back. He measured the distance between them and the house. It would be unwise to leave her out here just to get a solid surface for her back. Better to carry her in and hope for the best.

  Very carefully he tucked his arms beneath her, shifting until her neck lay against his biceps so he could cradle her body against his chest. The stillness of her face was eerie. Despite its waxen paleness, he felt her body heat seeping out and that reassured him.

  As smoothly as possible, he stood and walked toward the house.

  Images from the past bombarded him. Wounded men he’d carried to a waiting vehicle. The stink of blood and excrement. The heavy burden of guilt that shrouded his life now.

  Somehow he kept one foot in front of the other, reminding himself that this was Gracie. She’d fallen from a horse. She hadn’t been shot.

  This wasn’t Council Bluff.

  * * *

  “Gracie, can you hear me?”

  Mary’s voice drifted to Gracie from far away, but in the end its sound wasn’t what coerced her eyes to fly open. Hot irons of pain branded her leg. With a strangled moan, she jerked her eyes open and pointed to her knee, or at least where she thought her knee might be. Mary’s face wavered in front of her like a flag billowing in the wind.