by Caryl McAdoo
“What do we need?”
“Do the mules ride?”
“Yes.”
“Get the off mule. He’s half a hand taller, and we’ll go get wet.” He turned and led Lexi away like that was that. Sure was bossy! Go on now, girl, and do what I say.
Except the way he said it and how he’d tamed the stallion…the thought of her finally riding the horse, keeping him…all made her want to play along.
So she humored him.
Butterflies fluttered in her tummy. Ride Sir Lexington! Her mother would die if she knew Marah even thought about it!
Without a word, he led Lexi beside her. She took the mule through two pastures and all the way to the water’s edge wondering what part Old Mo would play, but she wasn’t about to ask. He pulled off his boots and nodded toward hers. She followed suit.
With hardly any effort, he threw himself onto Mo’s back.
Grabbing a handful of stubby mane, he extended the other toward her. The whole time hanging onto the rope.
“Get on behind me.”
Been years since she’d ridden bareback, but why not? She grasped his hand, and he pulled her up as if a child. The mule stepped off the bank into the water. To her amazement, Lexi followed right along.
Charley eased the mule to where Mo stood side by side with the horse. “Get on.”
Her heart pounded. She filled her lungs. “You sure about this?”
“I am, but if you aren’t comfortable, I can go first.”
“No.” She put a hand on his shoulder, lifted her leg and eased over onto her horse’s back.
He flinched once, and shuddered, but nothing else. He just stood there with her sitting his back! She leaned over and patted his neck. “What a good boy you are. Yes, sir, you sure are.” After loving on him a while, she sat back and looked to the man. “Now what?”
“Nudge him forward a bit. Turn him and bring him back.”
With her insides churning, she clucked and pressed her knees into Lexi’s chest. He walked forward. She rope-turned him, and he followed her orders to the tee. Tension rushed out of her and she breathed. Wow. She could hardly believe it.
“Want to ride him out?”
“Is he going to buck me off?”
“Don’t think so.”
She would have preferred a saddle, but didn’t want to appear to be a helpless ninny, so she nodded, extending her hand. “Give me the rope.”
A knife materialized in his hand. He cut it, leaving a six foot or so length attached to the halter he’d so adeptly fashioned. He draped the remainder across the mule’s neck then leaned over and tied the loose end to the make shift halter.
“Plow horse him for now. We’ll teach him to rein later.”
The man pulled the mule around, and Mo walked out of the water.
She nudged Lexi’s ribs, and he followed the man. Once out, he shook the water off. A fine spray wet most parts of her that had been dry. She nudged him again, and he broke into an easy trot.
Then just like he was born to do, he stretched out his long legs and galloped toward the far fence. She squeezed with her legs and held to his mane along with the rope.
She loved it! Her peripheral vision blurred, but she focused right between his ears. If the thrill of it didn’t burst her chest, she might actually live through the exhilarating experience, and if she didn’t, then it was well worth every minute of it.
Oh, she loved it! She’d forgotten how much fun riding bareback was.
Though she couldn’t post without stirrups, she didn’t feel the need. Lexi’s stride was smooth and easy, seemed effortless. He turned and neared the fence then continued around the pasture.
That he hadn’t offered to go over it offered some relief, although it probably would’ve been just as much fun.
She didn’t want him to hurt himself.
Charley bounced on the mule straight to the far gate then jumped off. Marah’s hair had come loose. The wind in her face kept it back, trailing her like Sir Lexington’s tail, but hers far more beautiful. As Uncle Henry was want to say, mercy!
He’d never seen anything like it.
Shame she wasn’t Lacey Rose.
Chapter Twenty-one
Once back in the barn, Charley put the mule in its stall then hurried to the back doors. What a sight. Couldn’t tell who was having more fun, the lady or her horse.
After seven or ten laps—he’d lost count—Lexi slowed, made one last victory lap, then decelerated to an easy walk. Marah steered him toward the barn.
Stepping aside as she neared and passed, he admired the duo again. The musty aroma of horse sweat filled the hall. She slipped off the stallion, keeping a hold on the rope.
“Thank you. I’d forgotten how much fun riding bareback could be. And for Lexi…” Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. “Really, thank you so much. I love this big ol’ baby.”
“You’re welcome.” He considered telling her how much fun he had watching her, but perhaps he ought to save that. Instead, he smiled. “Best walk him out, cool him down some.”
She nodded, untied one side of the halter, then gave him a come hither flip of her mane. “Walk with us. I’d love to hear how you learned to do what you did. Never saw anything like it.”
“Well, thank you.” He fell in next to her. “After the big fight, when the People split and came out of the mountains, the elders claimed they became brothers with the horse.”
She glanced at him. “What people? What does that mean?”
“The Comanche.”
“Oh, yes. You’re that Charley. Sorry, I forgot.”
“Ever seen a man shoot an arrow from under a pony’s neck at full gallop?”
“No! That would be impossible.”
A chuckle escaped for her adamancy. “Been years, but I’ve done it.”
Marah hated braggarts, but if a man could do a thing… What was that called? “We’ll leave that for another day, but explain to me about shooting an arrow from under a horse’s neck.
Oh, and at a full gallop, can’t forget that part.” She grinned. “What does it have to do with anything?”
“When you break a horse, if you crush his spirit, you can’t trust him with your life, but if he’s your brother, then he’ll do whatever you ask.”
Unbelievable, the man and his whoppers.
For some strange reason, she could not bring herself to any firm conclusion about the imposter, but he definitely tamed Lexi for her, and so easily. She glanced back at her horse. The magnificent beast walked behind them, appearing completely content.
She’d forgotten all about not turning her back on him. But he didn’t seem to even remember how he’d loved taking hunks out of everyone.
Studying Charley as long as she dared, she faced front again. “Back to my original question. How’d you do it?”
“Made him want to join my mare band.”
She glared. Was he toying with her or just being ignorant? “And pray tell what is that supposed to mean?”
“When running free, the herd is comprised of mare bands. The matriarch will have five or six daughters or sisters that are submissive to her. Their foals either submit, or she runs them off. She’s especially hard on bad acting colts. Sir Lexington had never been made to mind. You bribed him with treats, and that’s the only reason he tolerated you.”
“What about the stallions?”
“The older, stronger ones try to gather as many mare bands as possible. Never personally seen one with more than three. His full time job is to fight off any intruders, especially another stallion.”
“How’d you learn all this?”
“From the elders, and my brothers.”
“Your horse brothers?”
Without words, he answered in the affirmative.
“But, according to the novel, you and your mother were rescued when you were only four years old.”
“A long four though. My earliest memory is of first father holding me atop his best pony.”
; “What’s a long four?”
“More than four and half, closer to five. The People marked time by the seasons. I was four winters and a summer when Levi Baylor and…”
She waited…and waited. “And what? Why’d you stop talking?”
He exhaled. “I should stop calling my partner’s name. I miss him bad enough as it is.”
The pain in his voice and eyes appeared real. Could he really be who he claimed?
Great actors working on stage could play any part, convince the audience they actually were Hamlet or King Lear or any other character. She’d heard of the good ones—and had seen most of them on Broadway or in one of the Washington theaters.
But she’d never known of one who fit the guy’s description or age. “So you were a long four when the Rangers rode into Bold Eagle’s village?”
“Yes, ma’am, but it wasn’t really a village. It was called a peace camp. We’d only been there less than a moon. First father had been to the Tehuacana Creek councils—Sam Houston’s peace talks. After he returned, the Rangers came with the government agents. That’s when he traded Mother and me to Levi Baylor.”
How did he know all these details? She faced him. “What about your real father? Did you ever spend any time with him?”
“Only saw him twice. That time when Levi and Mama found out he was married and had another family. Then I went with a load of timber to Saint Louis when I was sixteen. He was still buying from Uncle Henry.”
He stiffened his back and looked ahead like he really didn’t want to talk about the man.
But he’d peaked her curiosity. “Did you see him then?”
“Yes, I asked why he’d married my mother when he already had a wife.”
“What did he say?”
“At first, he only shrugged and stood there with his head hanging. Finally, he looked me in the eye and smiled. Told me couldn’t help himself, that he knew it was wrong, but my mother was the most desirable female he’d ever laid eyes on. And well, that he thought he could make it work. Support her in Texas, without abandoning his wife and two little girls in Saint Louis.”
For the next lap around the paddock, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to ask. The horseman had to be who he said he was, and she worked at believing such a thing.
And maybe the knowing so much about his life…urged her to tell him hers. It pressed stronger on her with each step.
Was she interested in him? She loved the sound of his voice, definitely not hard to look at or be with.
If only she could be sure he really was May Meriwether’s nephew. “How old are you, Charley?”
“Twenty-four.”
She snickered. “Is that a long or short twenty-four?”
He smiled. “Does it matter?”
“Not really. I’m older either way.”
He didn’t respond. Why wasn’t he asking her age? She reached the barn’s big door, stepped back, and rubbed on Lexi’s chest. Cool enough. “Open his stall.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He hurried in and held the gate like a groom or something. She couldn’t imagine Curry acting like a servant, or… Why had she thought of him? She walked into the stall, turned her stallion around, then untied his makeshift halter.
Such a magnificent animal, her Sir Lexington! She loved on his neck and ran her hand over where she’d been sitting, separating and fluffing his hair. “There you go, Lexi, you’re such a good man.”
Charley tossed in an armful of hay, closing the door behind her once out. He strolled toward the front double doors, but stopped and faced her. “Can I ask a personal question?”
Here it came. He couldn’t stand not knowing her age. “Go ahead. I may not answer.”
“Fair enough. I been wondering. Are you making any money raising thoroughbreds?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He shot her a little boy grin. Could the man look any more desirable? “If you are, then perhaps you might want to spend some of it to free up more of your time.”
“What are you talking about? I don’t trust my horses’ care to strangers.”
“No, not hiring help. Half your time is spent on watering.”
“So? They like to drink same as us.”
Why didn’t he just say what was on his mind?
“Well, if you’re making money, maybe you might be interested in a water system. Really wouldn’t cost that much.”
She’d heard about such, but didn’t know anything about it or anyone who did. “I make a few greenbacks selling horses. Tell me more about it. Have you ever put one in?”
Through dinner and the afternoon feeding he shared his idea with her. The more he talked, the better she liked it. That night after supper—Cookie had outdone herself—maybe she was showing off for Charley.
Marah invited the Texan to have a nightcap in the parlor. The day’s warmth had faded, but not enough to warrant a fire.
She poured then handed him two fingers worth of brandy. He rolled it in the glass then smelled it. For some reason, she’d obviously broke out her best. Maybe she tried to do a little of her own impressing. “Have any idea what your system will cost?”
“No, but if I can find what I need in Danbury, it shouldn’t be all that much. Exception would be the engine and pump. Those are liable to set you back. Too bad Elijah Eversole isn’t here. He could cast both.”
“Should I know him?”
“Guess not unless you’ve read Aunt May’s last novel, Daughters.”
She sipped her drink and studied on the man. Most males his age she would consider a boy, but Nightingale seemed like an old soul, way older than his years.
Though now and again, he’d shown her flashes of the child in him, the Charley she knew. “Tell me something. And by the way, I’m twenty-nine.”
He smiled. “Is that a long or short twenty-nine?”
She returned his mirth. “Short.”
He grinned even bigger. “What are you wanting to know?”
“This morning at breakfast. Exactly what was it you said in Comanche?”
For too many ticks of the grandfather clock in the hall, he stared. But eventually, his lips thinned. He faced her, and his eyes bore into her soul. She blinked, and he spoke.
“I said your beauty shames the morning.”
His words washed over her.
She had a mirror, and knew full well that her features were not all that appealing. Not anymore. Especially now that leathery skin and crow’s feet circling her eyes replaced the bloom of her fleeting youth. She grinned. “Such a flatterer.”
He drained his glass, stood, then shook his head. “No, I’m not.” He tipped his hat—except he wasn’t wearing one—then strolled out of the room.
Her heart boomed. Her breath came hard. What in the world?
How ridiculous.
Then again, had she ever known a man like the Texan?
One o’clock in the afternoon on Friday, the thirteenth day of May, found Lacey Rose on the square at the best eatery in Glenn Falls, toying with her plate of pasta, letting herself be mesmerized by Nathaniel Smithson.
The Humphries took seats a respectable two tables over at the older woman’s insistence.
“We should give you young people some privacy.” Mother Humphries patted Lacey’s cheek.
The deacon put his fork down, tore off a piece of bread, then dipped in the saucer of seasoned olive oil. “Would you care to accompany me to the Convention next month?”
She glanced at Mother Humphries then back. Why was she so concerned about what the old dear thought of her? Lacey could come and go as she pleased, except she hated the thought of disappointing the woman.
Probably she’d taken the place in her heart as the grandmother she’d never had. “No thank you, sir. It wouldn’t be proper at all for us to travel together.”
“I agree, and it warms my soul that you answered in such a manner. And that’s why I’ve asked my cousin who has agreed to go with us. All dependent, of course, on
if we can locate a benefactor.”
Just as she’d suspected. She lay down her fork and sat back. “So is that why I’m invited? To finance this trip?”
He grinned. “Partly, I won’t deny it. But I couldn’t think of another person in the world I’d rather go with, even if you are not inclined to donate to the cause.”
She turned her attention to her meal again. So. He readily admitted it. “What’s your trade, Mister Smithson?”
“Nate, please. If you won’t be offended, neither will I.” His face hardened as though she’d insulted him by not jumping at his proposal.
“Fine. Nate it is. How do you feed yourself?”
“My brother and I inherited an apple orchard. We manufacture cider, sauce, butter, and of course, sell apples. However, regarding politics, we don’t see eye to eye. And he’s the elder….”
“I see…and understand your predicament. Have I met your cousin?”
“No, she lives in New York. Runs a market that sells all of our products. She’s more rabid than I—if that’s possible—about ending this war.”
“And is she needing a benefactor as well?”
“No, but her purse is limited.”
“Tell me true, are you married? Do you have a wife hidden out anywhere?”
He grinned. “I do enjoy a lady who speaks her mind right out. No holds barred. To answer your question, no. I’m single and have never indulged in matrimony.”
It might not be acceptable, and she hated to ask, but out the man’s own mouth…. “Any children?”
He held her eyes. A pain tinged his as if she crossed some intolerable line. “No, none that I know of.” His tone remained flat and the pain morphed into insult.
“Your offer is intriguing. What are the dates of this conference of yours?”
“First week of June. My preference would be attending the whole week, but voting doesn’t start until the sixth. It will end the following day.”
Studying him, she looked him square in the eye. He matched her gaze, but his expression reminded her in ways of young Mister Briggs before she kissed the boy.
Hmm. Did she really want to spend a week with the deacon and his cousin?
