Ride a storm

by Quinn Wilder

  "I see he's still nervous inside."

  Dace turned and saw the cold-eyed blond man. He recognized him. "Yeah," he said, his tone noncommittal.

  "You've got a way with him."

  Dace said nothing.

  "You've got a way, period."

  "What do you want?" Dace asked sharply.

  "I'd like you to change stables. You're raw, but you seem to have some talent."

  "I'm happy where I am," Dace said, aware of cold fury beginning to boil in his veins.

  "Happiness is a pretty relative matter, isn't it? What's she paying you?"

  "I said no."

  "I've got a horse with every bit the potential of Storm "

  "Haven't you hurt her enough?" Dace cut him off with dangerous quiet.

  Surprise registered in Lionel's face, and his eyes narrowed speculatively. "So it's not the money and not the horse. It must be the woman."

  "Maybe you should look at the possibility it's you I wouldn't care to work for."

  "Me? You don't even know me."

  Dace walked slowly over to the door. He resisted an impulse to reach casually through the open top part of the box stall, twist his hands in Lionel's lapels and lift him off the ground. He eyed him evenly, and Lionel must have seen something in his eyes, because he backed off a step.

  "I know you," Dace said softly. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"

  "There's no need to get touchy. I was only speaking professionally. I used to coach her "

  "I said, I know who you are," Dace said quietly. It took every ounce of restraint he had not to smash his fist into that face. This was, after all, the creep who'd left her high and dry when she was hurt. The son of a dog who'd let her think she was nothing because she walked with a limp, because she couldn't ride any more. The son of a dog who'd temporarily declawed the tigress, taken her confidence in her own beauty and womanliness from her.

  Dace turned abruptly away from him. Temporarily, Cadence had been shaken by her accident. A man like this one could never have hurt her permanently. It was probably because he knew it that he'd tried so hard, and kept on trying. He'd known long before the accident that he couldn't keep her. The accident had only made his knowledge worse.

  "She's too much of a woman for you," Dace said softly. "You knew she'd grow up and leave you behind. The accident just made it easy for you to make it seem as if the flaw was hers instead of yours. What rot—as if a physical flaw can be compared to the handicap of a man who is so weak he's threatened by a good, strong woman."

  "I could have Cadence back if I whistled."

  Dace whirled toward the man. That was it! That was absolutely the limit!

  Lionel was already walking away. "That horse will probably kill you. He's crazy," he called over his shoulder.

  "Sure," Dace said dryly. "Why do I have the feeling you'd be the first one trying to buy him if he went up for sale?"

  Dace felt far more aggravated than he wanted to feel. Did Cadence still have a soft spot for that? He had a baffled sense of wanting to throttle her over the very possibility, never mind the reality.

  He frowned suddenly. He wondered why he cared. Oh, hell, the truth was probably that he'd cared from the first moment he saw her. It was something in him—to care for wounded things. She'd been a mystery he felt compelled to solve.

  And now that he was coming closer to the solution? He laughed. Now he was being the fool. You didn't "solve" a woman like Cadence Copper-thorne. Not unless you had a lifetime to do it in. And he wasn't doing that again. Not ever. Till death us do part was too painful a reality. He did not want to be responsible for another person's happiness ever again. One failure of that proportion was probably enough for any man to have on his conscience for a lifetime.

  So what did he want? Why was he here? Why had he reacted so strongly to that man?

  "To ride a Storm,'' he said, patting the big gray affectionately. "That's all, right, buddy?"

  Storm's soft whinny sounded oddly mocking.

  And yet he somehow knew he could no longer convince himself he was doing this for Sloan. When, somewhere in the back of his mind, a man started to formulate plans one step short of kidnap to prevent a woman's making a fool of herself over another man, then there were things stirring deep and hard within him.

  The arrival of another visitor mercifully saved him from having to ponder that one for too long. Dace looked up to see himself being watched thoughtfully by a friendly looking, gray-haired man.

  "Hi. Can I help you?"

  "I recognized Storm. He's as magnificent as ever, isn't he?" A hand was extended over the gate. "I'm Dr. Masterson. I thought if I could find Storm, Cadence would be near by. Is she?"

  "I can certainly understand your looking for her in proximity to storms," Dace said wryly, "but no, I don't know where she is."

  "Too bad; I hoped to bump into her. She won't take my calls, and unfortunately I'm on my way home now."

  Dace's eyes narrowed. "Can I give her a message?"

  "Would you? Just tell her it's extremely important that she keep her appointments with me. And her physiotherapist. I've still got her scheduled at the regular times, and I won't fill that slot until I've heard from her."

  For the second time in a very short period, Dace thanked his lucky stars that her slender neck wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of his hands.

  Cadence felt a baffling anger in Dace for the rest of the day. She searched her mind for what she might have done wrong. After his openness and enthusiasm this morning this seemed like a dreadful slap in the face.

  What was happening to her, where this man was concerned? She was relying rather heavily on what he thought of her, felt about her. Damn this passionate sport, and what it did to her emotions. It probably had nothing to do with that cowboy. It was the excitement of being back on her turf, feeling so at home, feeling as if she was where she belonged.

  Cadence, a little voice inside her head chided, you revised your definition of passion the first time Dace laid his lips to you. She sighed. It was true. She'd thought her sport was what passion was all about, and then a few seconds of real passion, and her dream of gold had seemed like an oddly faded and colorless thing to spend one's life in pursuit of.

  "Dace, did I do something wrong?" she asked, using an impatient tone to mask her uneasy mulling.

  He looked at her, seemed to debate, and then gave her a slight smile. "Cadence, you only did something wrong if it's a crime to be born beautiful."

  And then he grabbed her shoulders, placed a furious kiss on her astounded lips, backed away from her, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the stubborn horse.

  "What was that all about?" she demanded.

  "It was a peaceful substitute for what I really wanted to do," he muttered.

  She stood there in stunned silence. After a long time she touched her lips tentatively with her index finger.

  That confirmed it. It wasn't a passion for horses or for her sport that had been stirring in her veins all day, or, if it had been, that wasn't the kind of passion She was feeling now, because she gladly would have shot her horse to get Dace's undivided attention. Which he had decided not to give her.

  She finally tossed her head and walked away.

  Dace was aware the moment she left, and now he gave her his undivided attention, as he had refused to do while she stood there waiting for it.

  He felt the breath go out of him at the sheer beauty of her. He realized that, until he'd had his talk with the doctor, her cane and her limp had failed to exist in his mind—except when she was so obviously in pain. He felt very irritated that her pain was self-induced—the by-product of her own neglect. But, if he was learning one thing about Cadence Copperthorne, it was that you didn't have much chance of winning an argument with her.

  He was going to have to set out a big pot of honey to get Cadence Copperthorne to do something she wasn't eager to do. He was probably a fool to take it on. But then he never seemed to be able to back away
from the pure challenge of her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cadence was awakened by a sharp rapping on her door. She groaned and rolled over to look at the clock on her night table. Seven o'clock.

  "Whadyawant?" she managed to mumble.

  "It's Timothy, miss. Er—you have a guest."

  She didn't answer. She snuggled down under her quilt. It was a dream, of course; people did not come calling at this hour.

  "I'll handle it," she heard a deep familiar voice say.

  Her eyes shot open.

  -But, sir "

  "I'll be held accountable. Go back to bed."

  "Er—well, very good."

  If she weren't so startled she probably would have laughed. Timothy was completely unflappable. She had never seen him even slightly ruffled by any situation. But she could tell by his tone he was slightly ruffled now, and genuinely pleased, too.

  Dace entered her room without knocking. He crossed his arms over his chest and stood there looking at her, a small smile playing across his lips.

  "Good morning, Princess."

  She was completely lost for words, She hadn't seen Dace dressed like this for a long time. He was wearing jeans faded nearly white, and a navy blue corduroy shirt. He had on a belt of tooled leather with a silver buckle, and a white cowboy hat with the same tooled leather on the brim. He looked

  gloriously masculine and for a moment she felt regret that she had taken him out of his natural habitat. Then she found her voice.

  "Exactly what do you think you are doing?'' she asked, her tone deliberately querulous. She pulled her quilt up to her nose.

  He took off his hat, crossed the room, tossed the hat on her bed and then sat himself down on the edge of it. She scooted as far away from him as she could without falling out of bed. She eyed him warily—her heart was drumming so loudly in her ears that she thought she wouldn't be able to hear him when he spoke anyway. There was something absolutely sinful about a big, rugged man in his hardy work clothes looking so at home on priceless Chinese silk.

  "How would you feel about an outing?"

  "An outing?" she squeaked.

  His eyes were intent on her face. "That's a nice old-fashioned word, isn't it? I like it." He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I especially like it when I don't plan to do anything as old-fashioned as bring a chaperon along."

  "For heaven's sake, get off my bed! For heaven's sake, you big, cocksure oaf, what makes you think III be coming along?"

  He made no move to get off her bed. He grinned at her tone, and she sank deeper underneath the quilt. Darn it, he seemed to be on to her—he wasn't going to be chased away by a hard, cool tone.

  "Are you going to get dressed, or would you like some help?" he asked quietly.

  Her mouth dropped open. "If you don't get out of here, I'll have Timothy throw you out."

  Daqe studied a fingernail thoughtfully. "Sent the poor old guy back to bed. Besides..." he shot her a fiendish grin ".. .he likes me."

  "You mean he's been fooled by your silly cowboy charm. Well, that makes one."

  "I think he has a romantic heart," Dace said thoughtfully.

  "Timothy?"

  "He seemed to be quite taken with the idea of a man coming calling with a horse and buggy. Of course, it does show more than your usual amount of flair and imagination "

  "A horse and buggy?" she whispered, her peevish facade falling away.

  "And a picnic for two. Of course, if you don't want to come..." He got off the bed with a heartfelt sigh.

  "I guess I could come," she said, regaining some composure and managing to make her tone quite careless.

  That wicked grin spread. "I wasn't really going to take no for an answer."

  "I don't see how you could have made me "

  She stopped at the look on his face. If Dace said he wasn't taking no for an answer, he wasn't, and there was no sense challenging the man. Besides, she wanted to go with him.

  "If you'll excuse me, I'll get dressed," she said, her nose tilted proudly.

  "If you're sure you don't need any help "

  "Out!" she said, pointing imperiously to the door.

  "Dress warm. There's a chill in the air this morning."

  "Yes, sir."

  "I've waited a long time for you to treat me with the respect I'm due," he teased.

  "Out!" she commanded again.

  He looked woeful. "Didn't think it would last." He picked up his cowboy hat and strolled out of her bedroom door.

  She debated for a ridiculous length of time about what to wear. Finally she wore a yellow plaid skirt with a touch of lace peeping out below the hem, low-heeled Western boots, and a lace-edged blouse under a yellow sweater. She fastened her hair back loosely with a matching yellow ribbon and eyed herself critically in the mirror.

  She looked nice, she decided, almost shyly. High color burned in her cheeks and a hopeful light shone in her eyes. She looked just right for a ride in a horse and buggy, with just a hint of the old-fashioned in the way she was dressed. For once, she didn't even change her opinion of how she looked when she added the cane.

  Dace was outside the front door, his face tilted to the warming rays of the morning sun. He turned at the click of the front door, and looked at her. She didn't feel awkward as she moved across the veranda to him. Something told her that Dace didn't even see the limp; that he only saw what was loveliest about her. His eyes trailed, with muted appreciation, over every detail of her appearance, and she was delighted that she had been so painstaking.

  "You look beautiful," he murmured huskily, when she stopped in front of him. "I've never seen you wear a skirt before. It suits you."

  For so long now she hadn't worn dresses because she thought they accentuated her limp—made it

  more apparent, made a mockery of her attempts to be feminine.

  She was a captive of his eyes for a long time, before she forced herself to look away from him. The morning was crisp, frost still clinging to the ground.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," she breathed. Parked at the bottom of the step was an old-fashioned, two-seater covered buggy. "Where did you find that contraption?''

  "Sloan collects them and restores them to working order."

  "And he lent it to youV

  "I happen to be a very responsible human being "

  "You happen to be a renegade," she murmured.

  "—besides which, Sloan knows even I wouldn't try and jump a horse that had a buggy attached to it."

  He helped her up on to the deep leather bench then went around and climbed up beside her. He took the reins in his hand and clicked to the horse who moved off at a nice steady walk. He clicked again and they moved to a trot. They came to the Copperthorne gate and turned on to the main road.

  "What a lovely way to travel," she murmured. The morning was beautiful—made even more intensely so by the steady clip-clopping of the horse's hoofs, the lovely, lulling rock of the buggy... and by the presence of the man who sat beside her.

  Now and then a car would go by, and the occupants would smile knowingly and wave. Cadence felt ridiculously happy—like a little girl in a parade. She always waved back.

  After a while they turned off the main road. Dace got down and opened a gate, so they could follow a track down to a grove of cottonwoods and the creek which she could see in the distance.

  "Is this Copperthorne land?" she asked curiously. She didn't think it was, but you could never tell what her father had been up to.

  "No. This is Stanton land."

  She looked down the road. It seemed to wind on forever without a fence. "All of it?" she asked.

  "Yeah, I guess there's a fair bit of it."

  She turned and looked at him narrowly. "I didn't know you had land. Why didn't you tell me?"

  "What for, Cade? I figured sooner or later you'd get my measure as a man. I don't think what I own, or don't own, has much to do with that, personally."

  "You let me believe you were an ambit
ionless cowboy."

  "How long did you believe that for?"

  She got his point. "About thirty seconds," she murmured with a smile and a shake of her head.

  He stopped the horse and buggy, and passed her the reins. "Okay—your turn."

  She stared down at the reins. The leather felt good in her hands. How she had missed that feeling. She hesitated, and then clicked her tongue and slapped the reins. The horse moved amiably ahead.

  "Let's speed it up," Dace suggested.

  She moved the horse into a trot.

  "Let's go, Cadence."

  She flashed him a look, and then slapped the reins again. The horse broke into a smooth canter. The wind caught in her face and the thunder of hoofs rang in her ears. The carriage jolted over a bump

  in the road and she almost lost her seat. She burst out laughing. She laughed into the wind, she laughed until the tears rolled down her face. Finally, as they started to go down a hill toward the distant creek, she reined the horse in, allowing herself again to appreciate the feeling of deep pleasure that having leather between her fingers gave her.

  She passed the reins back to him. "Thanks, Dace. It wasn't the same, but thanks.'*

  "I never intended for it to be the same," he said slowly. "But before you had nothing. Now you have something. That's all. Sloan said to tell you the buggy's yours. Any time you want it, he'll get it ready for you."

  She could feel a lump growing in her throat. No, it wasn't the same. But still, when she wanted to be out in the fresh morning, in the early evening, when she wanted to be out and part of the landscape, she could. She could still have part of it. Not the exciting part; but the slow, languid, lovely part of being around horses. The part that transported her back into a different time and age, she could have. And that was a very special gift.

  "Don't go crying on me, Cadence Copper-thorne," he said softly.

  "Ha!" she said, swiping a tear from her cheek. "You should know better by now!"

  He was smiling knowingly at her. "I do know better."