Dakota Dream (12 page)

Barney pulled her hand into the crook of his arm and marched toward the door, jerking the words from her mouth. "She'll be just fine, Hazel. You should worry more about where you walk than where your niece does."

Hazel squealed, sidestepping a fresh pile of droppings, and then the pair disappeared out into the sunshine.

Her dark eyes sparkling with laughter, Dominique spun around to face the Soldier. His gaze had never left her. Caught off guard by the calm intensity in his deep blue eyes, the sense of purpose in his expression, she found she had to look away to regain her composure.

Jacob
sighed,
again questioning his judgment, then stifled the urge to laugh when he noticed the rhythmic tapping of a small foot beneath her long navy-blue skirt. Impatience and a very strong will ruled this one, he decided, reinforcing his original opinion of her. Too bad they were not in the Lakota camp, he thought, swallowing the urge to laugh. A fast lesson astride his mount, the spirited Sampi, would teach this impetuous beauty a few things about the value of patience.

Dominique smiled up at him. "Well? Where do we start?"

Jacob furrowed his brow and stared down at the hem of her dress. "You must start by going to your quarters and changing your clothing."

"Changing?" She drew her fingertips down the sides of her navy wool serge riding suit. "But my Aunt Libbie brought this back from New York not two months ago. She had it altered to fit me only yesterday." She lifted her chin and draped one hand across the brown leather straps decorating the jacket. "This is the newest, most fashionable riding habit available anywhere."

Incredulous, he said, "You wish to ride a horse in this dress?"

"Of course."
Dominique lifted her right arm, revealing the leather strap surrounding her wrist, which was connected by a thong to the hem of her skirt. The higher she raised her arm, the higher the skirt rose, until it rested above the toes of her boots. "Shall we?"

Uncertain, wondering if he should believe her, Jacob removed his trooper's hat and scratched his head. "I do not think you will fit on the back of a horse in this dress."

Dominique puckered up her mouth and frowned. "But Aunt Libbie rides in one just like it. This must be the correct attire." With her free hand, she reached up and adjusted her hat, a matching square fillet with a long ivory illusion veil that circled the crown and trailed down from a bow at the back. Then again she smiled and repeated her request. "Where do we begin?"

Jacob grinned.
"With a horse."

"Of course."
She laughed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Caught by the sparkle in her playful brown eyes, Jacob indulged himself with a long look into them before he gestured for her to follow him. "I have come to know all the animals in the barn. There is a mare
who
will be very gentle with you."

"Oh?" she sighed, disappointed. "I assumed I would be riding my aunt Libbie's horse. She talks about that animal as if it were human."

Jacob stopped in front of a stall and began to untie the rope. "I have heard that Mrs. Custer has ridden many times with the general. Her mount is spirited, meant only for a rider with much experience. This mare will serve you best."

Dominique opened her mouth to protest, but one quick look at the animal in the stall kept her reply in her throat. Good heavens. Did she actually have to climb up on that monster's back in order to keep up this charade? Could she really go through with the riding lessons, with this suddenly insane excuse she'd dreamed up in order to see Jacob again?

Unaware of Dominique's attack of nerves, Jacob attached a leather lead line to the mare's halter, and led the animal out of the stall. "This is Peaches. Come to her, Dominique. Let her get to know your voice, your scent. Talk to her in a gentle voice. Be kind to her and she will be your friend for life." He handed the lead to her and added, "I will get a saddle while you become friends."

Alarmed, Dominique stood there looking at the length of leather resting in the palm of her gloved hand as Jacob walked away. Then she glanced up at the horse. Peaches began nodding her head, and her lush black mane moved back and forth across her long neck like a pendulum. For the first time since Dominique had come up with the idea, the enormity of what she'd gotten herself into dawned on her. A horse was a very
big
animal—much bigger than she. Why, if the beast chose to it could simply walk right over her and crush her into the ground as if she were nothing more than a sapling.

Terrified Dominique stepped back.

Peaches followed.

"Stay," she ordered, her voice wavering as she took several backward steps. Frantically searching her mind, she tried to remember the words liverymen used to make a horse do as it was told, but she could remember only the plush leather seats and the comfort of the carriages her father hired to take her from place to place.

The horse began nodding again and resumed trailing after her new mistress.

What had started out as a lark, as a way to pass the time and learn more about the intriguing soldier called Jacob, was rapidly becoming another of her
follies.
Frightened almost as badly as she'd been when the ferry capsized, Dominique dropped the line and backed down the dirt and straw aisle. "Stay, horse,
please?"

Peaches tossed her head high and emitted a shrill whinny. She punctuated her song with a resounding snort, splattering her new mistress in the bargain. Then she resumed her forward march, curiosity prompting her to pick up the pace.

Panic replaced fear as the mare bore down on her. Dominique wheeled around, determined to race from the barn and never
return
. Instead, she tripped over a rake and fell flat on her face.

The plodding of hooves against the hard-packed dirt floor resounded.
Clip-clop, clip-clop
.
The noise grew louder as the mare approached her prone body. Dominique covered her head and screamed, "Help me.
Help!"

The pitiful pleas reached Jacob's ears as he stepped out of the tack room with a saddle slung over his shoulder. Inclining his head, he slowly approached the woman whose cries were now reduced to unintelligible whimpers. Peaches stood directly above her, nickering softly in her ear, nuzzling the knot of hair at the back of her neck.

A grin tugging at one corner of his mouth, Jacob dropped the saddle and hunkered down beside her. "This is a very strange way to become friends with your mount. Peaches will think you are afraid of her."

"I am, you ... you nincompoop. Get her away from me this instant."

Jacob laughed.

"Get her
away,"
Dominique
demanded,
her jaw taut.

Realizing now that her panic was real, Jacob stood up and reached for the halter, but before he could catch the leather with his fingers, Peaches snatched Dominique's hat between her teeth and began shaking it as if it were a clump of grass. Laughing to himself this time, he pulled the tattered ruin from the mare's mouth and tied her to a nearby post.

Still paralyzed with fear, Dominique remained prone, her arms up over her head, her eyes shut. Jacob dropped back down to his knees and whispered, "You are safe. I have restrained the dangerous beast."

Dominique peeked over her shoulder. Satisfied the horse couldn't reach her, she sat up in a huff. "I thought you knew these horses," she said, trying to sound brave as she dusted the dirt off her bodice. "That animal came after me. I think she meant to stomp me."

"
Peaches's
only wish was to be your friend." Impulsively, he reached out and brushed away a smudge on her cheek.

Dominique slapped his hand away. "I still think she wanted to hurt me. Oh," she cried, reaching for her hat, "
look
what she's done. Isn't there a gentler horse for me to ride—one who will listen to what I say?"

Jacob grinned at her, amused to find this sign of weakness in one so brave. Choosing the method he felt would best reinforce that inherent courage, he issued a challenge. "No. You will learn to ride Peaches or you will not learn to ride at all. Perhaps your day would best be spent with the other women up on Suds Row instead of in the stables."

Dominique's jaw snapped shut and her eyes grew round. A sudden burst of temper running her tongue, she said, "We'll just see about that, you nincompoop. Please help me to my feet."

Jacob stood, offering his hand as he asked, "What is this you call me—nincompup?"

As Dominique smoothed her skirts and brushed the dirt from her jacket, she blanched at her lapse in decorum. She shrugged and said, "Oh, haven't you ever heard anyone say that before?"

Jacob shook his head. "My German family struggled with English. Then, after they were gone, I trapped and prospected, which are two very lonely ways to survive. I apologize for my poor English."

She waved him off with a nervous chuckle. "You do just fine, and that word is just a slang word. It doesn't mean much of anything."

But he persisted.
"Much of what?"

She expelled her breath in a long sigh and mumbled, "It's just another word for ... soldier. Now, can we get on with my lesson?"

Jacob stared at her for a long moment, reasonably certain she'd been less than honest with him, but he opted to let it go. "If you wish to learn to ride, you will do as I say. Can you do that?"

"Absolutely."
Dominique regarded the ruined hat, muttering to herself, and then tossed it aside. Smoothing her mussed hair, she checked the back of her head and found it was still wound into a bun and held securely in place by a wide-looped hair net. "I'm ready," she announced.

"I hope Peaches is." Jacob laughed as he started toward the horse.

Dominique stayed one step behind him, peering over his shoulder as they approached the animal. He turned, taking her hand in his, and softly said, "I am going to raise your fingers to her nostrils. She must smell you to know
you,
feel your touch and know that it will be gentle. Do not make any sudden moves."

"I understand," she breathed, wondering how on earth the warmth of his hand could affect her so, even through the leather of her gloves.

Then he pulled her forward so she could reach the animal, and Dominique brushed up against Jacob's broad back. She stood there, a captive of sorts, and found herself mimicking the mare's fascination with her fingers. She breathed deeply, absorbing, learning, identifying Jacob by his scent, branding his unique aroma into her brain, wondering if it would ever stop reminding her of the Sioux, Redfoot. Once again she felt those odd sensations, grew giddy as feather tips from the past brushed her memory, and sensed a kinship with the private she'd tried to understand but couldn't seem to reconcile in her mind.

"Very good," Jacob softly encouraged, unaware of the turmoil behind him.
"Stroke her with
tenderness,
show her you are not afraid."

On their own, for Dominique had no idea what her hands were doing, her fingers massaged the horse's jaw, then slid up along the lines of her round cheeks and slithered down her long silky neck. She continued the movements, but Dominique's gaze was fastened to the expanse of muscles across Jacob's back, watching as they strained against the smooth material of his gray flannel shirt. She could feel the mare's muscles bunching and expanding at her touch, and she wondered if Jacob's reaction would be the same if she were to manipulate and stroke his shoulders in a like manner.