Gerrity'S Bride (7 page)

“I’ll warrant you were a trial to your folks, growin’ up,” he suggested mildly, taking in the sight of her rosy complexion.

“You’d be right. But I cleaned up really well, once I grew up,” she added with wry humor.

His mouth pursed at her words, and he grunted in agreement. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

The horses traveled a narrow path as they neared the crest of the hill, moving along ridges that had not been apparent from far off, but had obviously been used for trails regularly. Single file, they moved along at a quick pace, Emmaline a few yards to the rear, until they broke onto level ground. Their pace picked up and the horses settled into an easy lope.

Then, with a scattering of small pebbles and dust, Matt drew his reins and held out a hand to halt her next to him. “Look, out there,” he instructed her as his other hand swept the horizon.

Before them was a valley that led into a canyon between two roughly hewn hills. A stream trickled down the center of the valley, coming from the side of the rocky heights above.

“Is that the beginning of the mountains?” she asked as she tried to trace the canyon out of sight.

“Just foothills,” he said. “The mountains are farther north, where the stream begins. It dries up down here during the hot spells, but up north a ways, it flows year-round. That’s where we send the horses.”

“It’s desolate, isn’t it?” Her eyes swept the horizon, where not a moving shadow or creature caught her gaze.

“Some folks would say so.”

She looked at him quickly. “But not you?”

He shook his head and swung his horse about with a quick movement of his reins across the cow pony’s neck. “Time to get back. Maria will have dinner gettin’ cold before we show up.”

It was gone. The sense of closeness she’d felt with him had vanished.

His glance was quick as he nudged his horse into a trot. “Can you keep up?”

She bristled and urged her own horse along. “Try me,” she called challengingly.

“One of these days, city lady,” he drawled. “One of these days, I’ll take you up on that.”

T
he rounded flank of the horse shone in the sunshine like warm mahogany, and with each stroke of the currycomb, Emmaline sent dust and loose horsehair flying. It was satisfying work, she decided, this grooming of horses. The sound of soft nickering from the mares and colts in the corral, the scent of hay and leather, and even the more earthy smells associated with the barn, brought back memories she cherished.

An affinity with the majestic animals had been her salvation through her childhood, when her mother had almost abandoned her, languishing in her dark, silent rooms. In the home where her grandparents observed all the rules of proper behavior and struggled to instill them in their reluctant grandchild.

She’d felt an outsider, there in that pillared mansion where guests were greeted beneath a welcoming portico. She’d greeted them herself, more than once, and smiled and talked obligingly with the finest citizens of the county. All in the cause of family. And since the death of her mother, she’d spent ten long years struggling to come up to the standards of the society her grandparents enjoyed.

Her hands slowed as she considered the past, reflecting on the proper behavior, the elegant posturing, the strict rules of etiquette she had adhered to, suffering in the doing. Only her hours spent in the barns had given her escape from the rigid way of life that had ruled her days.

She lifted her head and looked about her, at the wide span of the corral, the open doors of the barn and the flat pasture that was still green from the spring rainfall. Her gaze halted as she inspected the adobe house, which hugged the earth and seemed almost part of it. With thick walls and high ceilings, it held the cool night air long into the daytime hours, and offered a welcome for her that she had felt with increasing depth.

Even the people within those walls had begun to treat her as a part of the household. Emmaline smiled as she considered the sister she had come here to claim.

Theresa had spent half an hour before breakfast practicing her rope skipping, with Emmaline’s willing encouragement. The session had ended with a tentative embrace on the child’s part, and Emmaline had tried to be satisfied with the half hug she received before Theresa scampered off to the breakfast table.

“Out exercising so early?” Matt had come upon her unexpectedly, and she’d wondered for a moment if he’d watched as she took turns with her sister, showing her the fast-paced stepping to the rhythm of the rope as it spun about her body.

She had turned to face him, flushed and still breathless when she met his teasing glance. Irritated at being caught off guard, she’d muttered a hurried excuse and slipped away, aware of her disheveled appearance.

She spent a few moments before her mirror to prepare herself for the morning table. She’d washed her face with warm water and a cloth, and then quickly brushed her hair before she tied it up with a ribbon to match her dress.

At the table, Matt once more had become the man in charge, questioning Olivia, prodding Tessie to eat her breakfast, his earlier lapse into teasing forgotten, it seemed. But the slanting look he cast in Emmaline’s direction as he left the table had been filled with a veiled warmth she hugged to herself.

Now she took it out and examined it, that glance of his. Her eyes slitted against the brilliant sunshine, she brushed contentedly at the side of the horse she tended and wondered at the softening of Matthew’s hard features. His eyes had glowed with some indecipherable emotion that dwelled there, just behind his shuttered gaze.

Her arm kept up the steady movement as the horse edged closer, his own eyes closed as he welcomed her attention.

“I swan. You’re spoilin’ that critter, Miss Emmaline,” said Claude from the barn door, where he watched. “Ol’ Brownie’s never had it so good in his life, since you started ridin’ him.”

Emmaline grinned. The lazy teasing of the man behind her, combined with the prospect of a long ride in the morning sunshine, pleased her immensely.

“I like grooming him,” she answered, finishing her task with a final flurry about the neck of the gleaming animal, bending to step to the other side as she brushed. One hand rubbed at his velvet muzzle with affection.

“Well, he’s never had so much attention in his young life, and he’s just eatin’ it up.” Claude tipped his wide-brimmed hat back as he surveyed the scene before him.

He watched as Emmaline flicked the blanket onto the pony’s back, then lifted the saddle to swing it into place. She hesitated and lowered it, taking a breath as she once more prepared to hoist it. It was heavier by far than the small riding saddle she had used in Kentucky. And when she rode sidesaddle with the larger horned version, her mount had always been prepared for her.

“Here, let me do that,” Claude said, quickly dropping the halter he’d been holding and hustling over to where she stood. His hands reached out to grasp the heavy saddle and take it from her hands.

She relinquished it readily and brushed her palms against the leather of the riding skirt she wore. Once more the soft texture of the garment caught her attention, and she looked down at it, appreciating the gesture of the gift. The thought brought a flush of color that ridged her cheeks as she recalled the hours she had spent with Matt that day.

She would ride alone this morning, always within sight of the house and barns, she had promised at the breakfast table. Matt would be working with horses in the corral, unable to join her. She watched as Claude tightened the cinch and dropped the stirrup into place, ready for her to mount.

Leading the horse, one hand on his bridle, she walked with him until she lined him up with a mounting block Claude had placed for her use next to the barn. She could manage without it, but the gesture had pleased her, and she knew he watched as she stepped up onto it, smiling in his direction in silent thanks.

The horse edged away as she put her weight in the stirrup, and she spoke quietly to him, swinging her other leg over the saddle and gathering the reins into her left hand.

Like a demented animal, the cow pony flung his head back and snorted, then bowed his back and kicked out with his hind legs. His loud whinny rang out, and then, in a surprise movement that had her clutching at the saddle horn and dropping the reins at the same time, he leaped with all four legs off the ground, slamming once more against the hard sand, jarring her teeth together.

“Whoa...whoa there, Brownie!” Claude’s hoarse voice rang out in near panic as he watched the young woman clinging for dear life to the animal she rode.

From the corral, three men came running to the scene, Matt Gerrity at the front, his booted feet eating up the ground in long strides, his eyes focused intently on the drama before him.

She was holding her own, he’d give her that. But the reins trailing and whipping through the air seemed to spur the horse on to even greater effort as he sought to dislodge the slight weight on his back. He leaped once more into the air, and this time skewed sideways as he returned to earth.

It was too much. Her body flew off at an angle and Matt was there, between bucking horse and fallen woman. Moving quickly, he scooped her from the ground, even as the two other men captured the horse. Brownie stood, spraddle-legged, blowing and wheezing while he shivered and shuddered beneath the empty saddle.

“What the hell happened?” Matt’s voice boomed out in anger. He stood just out of reach of the animal, holding Emmaline’s inert form against his chest.

Claude shook his head, his wizened features perplexed. “Don’t know, boss. He was fine just a minute ago. Miss Emmaline was pamperin’ him, and he was havin’ a good time, just eatin’ it up. Then I swung his saddle on and cinched it up good, and she clumb up on her block and got on. Just like yesterday and the day before.”

“Well, something happened,” Matt growled, “and you’d better figure it out, old man.”

Matt turned with his burden and stalked toward the house, leaving the three men staring in his wake.

“Do ya ’spose she’s okay?” asked the man who held Brownie firmly.

Claude shrugged and shook his head, perplexed. “Who knows, Tucker? She shore did bang herself a good one... ‘Peared to me she was out like a light.

The third man, Earl, was busy with the cinch, working at removing the saddle Claude had just moments before put in place. “Let’s get ol’ Brownie dried off,” he said. “We’ll get a good look at him.”

Tucker picked up the halter from the ground. “This one Brownie’s?” And without waiting for a reply, he slid it over the horse’s ears and into place, removing the bridle in a reverse motion.

Claude watched silently as Earl disappeared into the barn with the saddle, and his sigh of disbelief was deep.

“I shore can’t understand that’n,” he muttered, his gaze following Matt’s tall figure through the double doors into the house. “Nope, I shore can’t figure that out at all.” His gnarled hands ran over the animal who stood before him, quiet now, a far cry from the bucking cow pony of moments ago.

* * *

“She’ll be fine, Mr. Matthew.” The words were confident and softly spoken, and Emmaline heard them through a painful haze.

Maria, she thought, recognizing the woman’s voice. And then she spoke the name.

“Maria.” It was loud in her mind, but the sound that passed between her lips was but a whisper. Two heads bent low, but Matt’s fingers reached to grasp her hand, and it was to him that her head turned, her eyelids fluttering open for just a moment.

“Emmaline?” He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, still carefully holding her hand, his index finger slipping up to the inside of her wrist. His other hand lifted to brush her hair away from her face, and the fiery tendrils caught and curled about his fingers.

Drops of blood were smeared on her forehead, and already a lump had risen. A quickening of emotion thickened his throat as he recognized the vulnerability of this woman. So easily she could have been taken from him, even before he’d come to fully know her, before he’d had a chance to claim her as his own.

The thought startled him. It was a stranger to his solitary existence, this yearning to claim another human as part of himself. Not as he’d taken other women in casual encounters during the past several years. They’d been like falling leaves, held for a few moments and then released. And with the thought, he dismissed the memory of them from his mind, as if they were whisked away by the winds of chance. For chance encounters were all he’d ever known...until now. Until this mercurial creature had come into his life and wiggled her sassy little self into his plans for the future.

The fact that old man Carruthers had dictated that same future no longer seemed nearly as important to Matt Gerrity as he sat by the side of the woman he was determined to marry. What was important now was that she be guarded against any further mishap, that he keep her safe and secure.

He bent lower and whispered her name again. It was a low, breathy sound that called to her from the dim edges of awareness.

“Yes...” She spoke the single word and once more attempted to lift heavy eyelids, but the effort was too much, with the pain that sliced through her head and the bright light that shone from the window.

“Head hurts.” She blinked, her free hand lifting to rub at the offending spot.

“I’ve sent for the doctor from town.” Matt’s large palm spread over her forehead and temple, his eyes inspecting the swelling and bruising beneath the dust and smeared blood that clung to her skin.

“I’m all right,” she managed to say, silently trying to assess her own injuries as she shifted against the mattress. Her feet and legs seemed fine, and although she sensed she would be lame and a bit stiff and sore, the only thing that concerned her was the pain radiating from her head.

“Lie still, Emmaline.” Though spoken softly, it was a command nonetheless, halting her movement as she turned her head on the pillow.

“Can’t...it hurts,” she murmured, closing her eyes once more, shielding them from the bright sunshine flooding her room.

Immediately his hand released hers, unclasping it from the firm hold he had taken. Her limp fingers twitched once, as if they searched for his touch, and then stilled against the coverlet. His palm enclosed the base of her skull for a moment, and his long fingers carefully and tenderly worked their way through her curls, searching out the contours of her head.

She grunted when he touched a swollen area just above her ear. “Ummm...right there.”

“Yeah, that’s quite a knot you’ve got there, honey.” Bending closer, he brushed the hair aside. “The skin’s scraped up a little, but that lump’s not bleeding.”

“I’m fine... Need to rest.” Her words were slurred, barely audible to the two watching her.

Maria shook her head, her worry evident as she bent low over the bed. “We need to wash her up and put on her nightgown, so the doctor can look her over.”

“No...” Emmaline whispered, her forehead wrinkled against the ache and stinging pain. “Lemme rest...call me for dinner.”

“Fat chance,” Matt grumbled beneath his breath. He bent lower, until his lips were at her ear, and he blew in it gently. “I don’t want any arguments. Let Maria help you, like a good girl, or else I’ll have to stick around and do it myself.”

Emmaline glared at him for a moment through slitted eyes, then, with a sigh of resignation, relaxed against his big body. For just a few minutes, it was easier to let him take charge, she decided. For now, she’d surrender gracefully.

“Just need a nap,” she breathed in a final sally, aware for a fleeting moment that his chuckle followed her into the dreamless sleep that claimed her.

Maria stood by the bed, hands clasped at her waist. “What happened, Mr. Matt?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. Brownie threw her. Bucked like a new bronc out there for a minute. Doesn’t make sense to me.” He eased to his feet and stood watching the even breathing of the woman on the bed.

“You can bet your boots I’m sure going to find out what happened. You’d better believe that, Maria.”

* * *

The sharp piece of iron had been wedged into the leather of the saddle, underneath, where it would not be seen, and toward the center, where no one would touch it during the normal movements it would take to lift it onto a horse’s back.