“You teach him, Banjo,” Monty said, scowling at the palomino.
“Is that a new horse?” Kate asked. The animal looked familiar, but he was acting like he’d just stepped off the trailer.
“No,” Monty said. “We’ve had Slider a few years. He’s popular in the arena. Just not my first pick for an overnighter.”
Now Kate remembered. Slider was brilliant at all the reining maneuvers, and the wranglers loved to impress guests with his long slides and powerful spins. He was usually stabled in the barn though. Clearly he didn’t appreciate his new sleeping quarters, or the fact that he’d been removed from his friends. He paced the far end of the corral, scooping up bites of hay and stretching his head over the top rail as he chewed. But he wasn’t stupid. He now kept a respectful distance from Banjo.
Monty tilted his cowboy hat and swiped at his brow. “Guess he’ll be okay,” he said. “The two girls insisted on horses with color and both App mares are in heat.”
They both stared in silence at the handsome palomino, neither Monty nor Kate saying anything more. Matching horses to riders was always a balancing act. Most guests were easygoing, letting the wranglers pick a suitable mount. But some people believed they were much better riders than they really were, or thought that experience at horse shows translated to the ranch. A different skill set was required on the trail and that applied to both horse and rider. As well, failure to win a blue ribbon didn’t hurt anyone while mistakes on the trail could be painful, even deadly.
At least the ride would be relatively easy. In the summer, the wild horses grazed on the other side of the Mustang River where they were buffered from off-road vehicles and hikers. While it was an isolated area, far from roads and towns, the trail was relatively flat with the toughest obstacles being distance and water. All in all, the palomino was probably a better choice than either of the Appaloosa mares, that could quickly draw a feral stallion’s aggressive attention.
Still, Kate couldn’t stop a shiver of unease. The fact that riders wanted horses based on color revealed a disturbing lack of respect for the back country. And it was surprising Monty had even tolerated that sort of request.
But it wasn’t her place to question him. Clearly, Sharon Barrett was prepared to go to great lengths to keep these particular visitors happy. And Monty knew it. Besides, Kate would be in the back with the mule train—a quiet attendant who merely set up camp, cooked meals and took photos of smiling guests upon request.
“I’m going to hang out here for a bit,” Kate said, “and get to know Belle. And I can pack up the dry goods when they’re delivered from the kitchen.”
“That’s all happening in the morning,” Monty said. “Under supervision. We won’t be touching anything.”
Kate’s gaze shot to the orange panniers lying in the open shed. Nothing had been packed yet, not even the tents. She remembered the cook’s watchful gaze when she’d prepared the gluten-free wraps. So these people were paranoid. However, there was no point in asking questions. Monty wasn’t prone to talking at the best of times, unless it was about the animals.
Besides, morning would come quick enough. She already knew there’d be five guests just by counting the horses in the holding pen. “I’ll come early tomorrow,” she promised, “to help with the animals. Is there anything else I should know?”
Monty fingered the brim of his hat, as if weighing his words. “The list that Boss gave me was very specific,” he said. “One hatchet only, to be stowed in the locked panniers. No firearms or weapons of any sort are to be carried...at least not by us.”
Kate shifted, her hand automatically reaching for her hip. Her knife wasn’t there of course. She was headed to the dance hall. But the idea of riding without it left her feeling unprepared. And unsafe. And dammit, she could feel her heart quickening.
“I know,” Monty said morosely. “We all need a knife. I had a packhorse topple over once. Fool horse wasn’t paying attention to the trail. Or maybe I had the pack a little uneven.” He paused as if considering the possibility of such a rookie mistake, then shook his head in quick dismissal.
“Anyway,” he added, “next thing I knew, the horse was upside down, twenty feet below, feet waving in the air like a turtle. If I didn’t have my knife to cut him loose, it would have been much worse. Luckily only his feelings were hurt. Most trail riders have had wrecks like that. I know you’ve seen worse.”
Monty looked at her, as if expecting some sort of reply. But Kate’s mouth felt bone dry. She’d been thoroughly grilled about the tragic mountain accident, by investigators, by the media and again in her exit interview. And she didn’t want to talk about it ever again.
“We’ll be riding the river trail,” she said. “As long as the animals can cross the water, I...we, won’t have any trouble.”
“I know,” Monty said. “You’ll be fine. I’m just saying it’s natural for anyone to want their knife. Especially you.”
“Right,” Kate said. However, the idea of riding without a knife to help in an emergency left her feeling physically sick, and while she appreciated his tact, they both knew it wasn’t natural.
She flattened her palms against her jeans, wondering if she really was the best person for this trip. She’d probably been a little too eager to please. Maybe it would be possible to back out. Maybe Sharon could find another wrangler, one of the guys...
“They asked for a woman,” Monty said. “Someone to help with lady stuff, but who won’t sell stories to the media. Donna’s hurt, and you’re the only other one I trust. So bring along whatever you feel you need. Just know that Boss is depending on you. So am I.”
Kate jammed her fists in her pockets. Monty wasn’t usually talkative but he certainly knew how to push her buttons. No one had needed her in a while. That knowledge left her torn. Then his words sunk in and the vise around her chest loosened a notch.
“Bring whatever I need,” she said hopefully. “So you’re saying it’s okay to bring my knife?”
“I’m not saying that, not exactly.” Monty extracted a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Boss gave me this list, and we have to follow directions. Still, our most important job is to keep everyone safe. Animals included. And it’s reassuring to know I have a partner who can untangle a pack string.
“Guess I’m just saying it’s up to you.” He yanked his hat lower over his forehead but not before she caught the conspiratorial twinkle in his eye. “And I don’t suppose they’ll check your boot.”
CHAPTER FOUR
KATE STEPPED THROUGH the door of the lively dance hall, still absorbing Monty’s words. He’d actually suggested she pack her knife, expressly against Sharon Barrett’s wishes. If it were discovered in the morning, not only would she be replaced with another wrangler but she’d probably lose her job.
The guest comes first. That had been drilled into every ranch employee...unless it was dangerous to human or animal. And in Kate’s opinion, it was dangerous for any trail rider not to carry a knife. Obviously that was Monty’s belief as well. And she was the one who’d be responsible for the pack train.
She eased to the back of the hall, weighing her dilemma, automatically avoiding eye contact with any single males. Her throat was parched so at some point she’d have to squeeze up to the bar and grab a water. But that would involve making conversation along with a considerable amount of smiling. And she needed to acclimatize first. To get used to this confining space, and air heavy with sweat and beer and music.
Thankfully, her services weren’t required yet. Allie was centre stage, head back and laughing. She always liked to break the ice by starting with the chicken dance, and now Allie was ringed by at least twenty people trying to learn the basic moves. Some of the guests looked like old pros, singing and flapping their arms in perfect harmony. Others weren’t quite in synch. But almost everyone in the room was grinning, admiring the dancers’ attempts, even if they weren’t motivated enough to get up on the dance floor themselves.
Of course, given time, Allie would have the entire hall rocking. Her enthusiasm was infectious.
Sharon Barrett wanted Kate to be a crowd pleaser like that. To make sure everyone had a good time and felt included. A small thing really. But for a reserved person like Kate, public demonstrations didn’t come easy.
She pulled in a fortifying breath and checked the room, searching for the singles. Time to do this. Generally guests arrived at the ranch in groups or couples, but there were always riders who were exhausted after a long day in the saddle, leaving their partner to come here solo. Often they just wanted someone to sit with and to chat a bit while they enjoyed the music. As long as Sharon saw Kate mingling, it should earn some needed brownie points.
But first, she needed some cool water to wet her throat, preferably a full bottle to carry in her hand. Holding a drink was always a good excuse to avoid a rowdy line dance.
“Thirsty?” a deep voice asked.
Kate twisted, automatically accepting the chilly water bottle pressed into her hand. Familiar brownish-gold eyes stared down at her. The man from the pool, every bit as good-looking as she remembered. His mouth was still a flat line, but she didn’t get the impression he was grim, only that he didn’t bother to indulge people. This man only smiled when he wanted. And she was okay with that. Respected it even.
“I am thirsty,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Just returning the favor.” The sides of his mouth remained flat but his eyes had an unmistakable sparkle. He was long and lean, with the kind of muscle that was built from activity, not hours in an upscale gym. His T-shirt wasn’t tight, but it didn’t completely hide his toned chest. A tattoo edged below the left sleeve. She hadn’t noticed that earlier, hadn’t noticed much else but his striking eyes and fresh masculine smell. She pulled in an appreciative breath.
“Or maybe you’d like something stronger?” he asked.
She realized she was staring, but men like this didn’t usually pop up in the dance hall. He might be young—she pegged him in his early thirties—but she doubted he had a frivolous bone in his body. It was like walking out to your corral and finding a wild stallion had inexplicably jumped the fence and joined a placid group of trail horses.
And he wasn’t shy. He was returning her scrutiny with an intensity that made her body buzz.
“No,” she said. “Water is perfect.” She twisted off the cap and took a long sip, guessing by the way her skin tingled that he was still watching her. However, when she lowered the bottle his gaze was on the dance floor.
“Some of those dancers look like they just arrived,” he said.
His choice of subject was rather disappointing. She’d expected more from such a man. But in here, it was all about humoring the guest.
“Most of them have been here for a week,” she said, following his gaze to the dance floor. “Only a few are new.”
“Which ones?”
“The lady in the beige boots and cowboy hat. And the woman in the silver top.”
“What about the guy in the black shirt?” he asked. “The one the lifeguard just pulled from his chair.”
“He’s been here for at least ten days,” she said, hiding her surprise. Most men only noticed the female dancers. And the blond in the silver top was very attractive, rivaling Allie with her sheer physical perfection. Obviously he hadn’t forgotten Allie and her bikini from earlier today, something Allie would be delighted to hear.
Kate took another sip of water. She didn’t enjoy being here and even hanging out at the back was a chore. But judging by the way this man was watching the floor, he was here to dance. Guests didn’t pay big money to be wallflowers. The more reserved ones just needed some prodding. Kate’s job was to get him up on the dance floor. Then turn him over to Allie and her genuine enthusiasm.
“Do you want to try this line dance?” Kate asked politely.
“Not one bit,” he said. And this time the corners of his mouth lifted in an actual smile. “I’m not much into dancing. Judging by your expression, I don’t think you are either.” His smile extended to his eyes, leaving them a little more golden than brown, and he seemed amused rather than offended by her lack of enthusiasm.
“Honestly, I’m not,” she admitted, surprised at her candidness as well as his awareness. “But no guest is supposed to be left alone. I need to hang out here in case someone needs a partner.”
“You work long hours,” he said. “From kitchen to the dance hall. You probably know every guest. Most people here seem like horse lovers. Are there many hunters?”
“None right now,” she said, thinking of Luke and Johnny and their brash father, who thankfully had piled into their Lexus and checked out immediately after supper. “The hunters mainly come in the fall,” she added. “But they’re restricted to the west side, far away from the trail riders.”
He gave an approving nod. “Seems like a professionally run ranch. I understand your head guide has been around for a while?”
“Yes, Monty Trask is a legend around here.” Now this was a subject she could embrace and she spent almost twenty minutes talking enthusiastically about Monty and his well-earned reputation. This man was so interested she even recited the story about how Monty had tracked down a man with Alzheimer’s twelve miles from a state campground, long after his frantic family had despaired of ever finding their grandfather alive.
“And Monty went back to look for the man’s horse,” she added. “He delivered him safe and sound as well.”
That prompted a series of questions about wranglers and dude ranches and the popularity of overnight rides. She waved a hand in animation, enjoying this line of conversation. But the music changed to a foot-stomping polka, with chairs emptying as dancers rushed to snag partners.
There weren’t many single women left and a blond man with hopeful eyes was already barreling her way. He was with some investment bankers from Seattle, and his first evening it had taken her and Allie a half hour to coax him onto the dance floor. He and his friends had been stiff and reserved, but by the end of the night they’d been tossing their hats in the air and racing each other to find dance partners. Clearly, they were ready for a repeat.
She squeezed her water bottle, knowing she had to leave and put in her time on the floor, even though it was more fun chatting with this man about guides and guests and ranch horses. Perhaps dancing could be postponed a bit by pleading that she needed to finish her water. After that though, she’d have to move to the front and join Allie. That was unfortunate because this new guy was totally appealing.
She rarely felt comfortable in crowds, but tonight she didn’t mind it so much. Just looking into this man’s eyes—hazel she supposed, although that seemed a boring description for such a striking color—was a treat. And then she realized she was staring at him, her reluctance to leave a little too obvious.
“My name’s Jack, Jack Becker,” he said, and something in that deep voice made her skin go all tingly again. “What’s yours?”
“Kate Miller,” she said, glancing behind him. The blond man and two of his investor friends were only a few feet away pushing and shoving at each other in their eagerness.
There was no way Jack could possibly see them. But he shifted, raising his arm against the wall, blocking their approach, and creating a cone of intimacy that was impossible for them to ignore.
“How long do you have to be on that dance floor, Kate?” Jack asked.
“Until midnight,” she said. “It’s part of my job to dance with the singles.”
“Well, I’m single and I need a partner.” He snagged her water bottle, easing it from her hand. “We can do this. And keep everyone happy.”
He placed the bottle on a nearby table and tugged her toward the dance floor, not giving her time to argue, or even a chance to psych herself up.
Less than a minute later, she was in his arms, moving to the catchy song without a shred of reluctance. And she didn’t feel stiff or out of place either. In fact, she felt completely n
atural, absorbed in the rhythm, the vibe, the joy.
One song morphed into another but she didn’t reach for her list of ready-made excuses. Didn’t plead a sore ankle, or the need for a bathroom break, or that she had to leave and wheel over another case of beer. Tonight was different. Everyone was having a marvelous time. And the tiny dance floor was packed, making it acceptable—even necessary—for Jack to pull her against his hard chest. There was no doubt he had a six-pack, maybe an eight, something Allie claimed she could judge after a two-minute dance.
Kate wasn’t so good at evaluating men’s bodies, only that with Jack it was like being pressed against an oak tree, even though his shirt wasn’t especially tight. It was almost like he hid it, or took his physicality for granted. Either way, she noted they didn’t get bumped once, not by the drunk investment guys or the clumsy car dealer who usually stepped on everyone’s toes. Jack made sure they had enough room around them and that in itself was liberating because after spending much of her life outside, she appreciated personal space.
Except she didn’t need quite so much space from Jack. In fact, at some point during a slow waltz he’d tucked her head between his shoulder and chest, where his sculpted ridges formed the perfect resting spot. She was actually disappointed when the waltz turned to a line dance. But she stayed up on the floor, not even thinking of bolting.
She even participated in a round of the chicken dance, flapping her arms and genuinely laughing. And though Jack’s mouth remained level, she could see his eyes were laughing too. And when he looked deep into her eyes, the corners of his mouth lifted. Not much. Just enough.
The singer took a break to adjust his guitar and Allie paused beside her. “I’ve never seen the dance floor this busy,” she said triumphantly.
Allie’s voice lowered and she pressed her mouth closer to Kate’s ear. “How did you get him to dance? I tried and he refused. But having a real cowboy up here set a good example for the other men. Except for the woman on crutches, not a single person is sitting. Boss will be so pleased.”
Shadows of the Mountain Page 3
