The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (13 page)

1. Good with horses.

Feeling generous now that he was full of pastry, he jotted another entry below the first:

2. Makes great pies!

Lacey swept over to the table and whisked the empty pie tin away, catching Hawke's eye again in the process. Never before had he even allowed himself to dream of finding anything like her in his kitchen, but here she was fussing over him like she'd been doing it all her life. Next thing he knew, Hawke was imagining Lacey as his wife and wondering what would it be like to find her at the stove each and every morning when he awoke. It might be nice, he thought, to hear that softly lilting voice murmur, 'Top o' the morning to you,' and to watch her lithe body swish across the room as she served his meals each day. And he sure wouldn't mind inhaling the sweet scent of cherry blossoms every time she brushed a few errant curlicues from her unmanageable coif across his cheeks. No, sir, he wouldn't mind that a bit.

Something warm stirred in Hawke at those thoughts, and his mind just naturally drifted toward the more pleasant side of marriage—to the fact that should he wed Lacey, he would be entitled to bed her, half-breed or not. Just thinking about this woman in his bed every night to do with as he pleased, drove him to add:

3. Bed partner
, to the advantage side of the list. But it wasn't a moment later that Hawke began to think of the disadvantages to such an arrangement as well.

As much as the idea of bedding the copper-haired beauty tempted him, Hawke had a few reservations on that count—not that he was anything close to an expert in such matters. He could narrow the sum total of his experience with females down to one encounter on a long, memorable night around a dozen years ago when he was on the cusp of manhood. Caleb and a few of the Crow Indians they traded with at the time had unceremoniously tossed him into the tepee of a widowed squaw for an instant lesson on sex. There by the light of a dim fire, he learned several startling things about women and their bodies, even a few things about himself, but absolutely nothing of love. Wouldn't a woman like Miss Lacey O'Carroll expect that of him—love or declarations of love—if she gave herself over as his wife?

He sure didn't feel that for her now, and Hawke had a pretty good idea that he never would. Still just thinking of lying with Lacey spread hot fingers of desire throughout him, tickling his nerve endings with a deep, hot lust he hadn't felt in years. When those fingers clenched into a fiery pulsing fist as they reached the base of his groin he forced himself to think of another disadvantage should he marry, then lie with this woman: children. Surely the Irish miss would want them. Hawke thought back to another lesson the Crow squaw taught him on that memorable night so long ago; rigid control, for coupling led to children. Hawke wasn't at all certain he wanted to bring anymore mixed-breed children into the world to be shunned by both white and red alike. And he had no idea how well he could control himself now, especially around the fiery-haired Lacey O'Carroll.

"May I ask what you might be doing there?" Lacey's voice surprised him so Hawke nearly pitched backwards out of his chair. "What?"

She moved closer to the table and pointed to the ledger. "I was wondering what you're writing there, and if I might be of help."

"Oh, ah, it's just my ledger, accounting I keep whenever I go horse trading." He glanced up at Lacey, oddly embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming about her, and felt compelled to explain even further. "I always make a list of the animal's good points and its bad. Whichever side is the longest when I've finished my examination, makes the decision for me."

"Ah, that sounds like a very good idea. Will you be buying another horse soon then?"

"Something like that." Suddenly wanting out of the conversation, Hawke hunched over the ledger to discourage her interest, then moistened the tip of his pencil and jotted two more notations under disadvantages:

7. Bed Partner

8. Too damn nosy.

The rough edge to Hawke's tone and his obvious dismissal of her didn't put Lacey off. How could she be angry with anyone who looked so adorable? Since he'd eaten the pie, the corners of Hawke's mouth, his tongue, and even his teeth, were all stained a nice periwinkle blue, making him look like a naughty little boy, even when he frowned. The only thing which disturbed her was the catch in his voice, a little warble which suggested he hadn't been entirely truthful with her.

Sure he was deliberately hiding something from her, Lacey made up her mind to have a look at this ledger of his. Making certain to stay on her tiptoes in order to keep her spurs quiet, she took up a feather duster and casually began to clean the shelving which held dishes and crockery just behind the dining table. Hawke paid her no heed. So she moved a little closer to him.

She worked this way for several moments, flitting behind him occasionally as she did her "chores." When she opened the back door which was located directly behind the chair in which Hawke sat, Lacey walked through to the porch and took a couple of steps in the direction of the icebox. Then quietly retracing her steps, she peered around the jamb, leaned forward as far as she dared, and glanced over his shoulder until she could catch a glimpse of this mysterious ledger.

The heading on the page clearly read:
Lacey O'Carroll
. Beneath that were two columns, one called
Advantages
, the other,
Disadvantages
. She swallowed a gasp of surprise, and ducked back around the corner. Apparently Hawke was rating her in the same way he judged his animals! If that wasn't bad enough, it appeared that the list of entries on the
Disadvantages
side of the ledger was much longer than the other. So the man judged her and found her lacking, did he?

Incensed, Lacey hiked up her skirts and, forgetting to tiptoe, marched out to the far end of the porch. "The curse of the crows upon you
and
your miserable book of lies, Mr. Winterhawke," she muttered under her breath as she flung open the icebox. Staring at the contents of the cold storage, she put the finishing touches on her curse in a much louder voice. "May you and your book of judgements rot in the hills for the crows to feed upon."

Back in the house, Hawke cocked his head, alerted not just by Lacey's voice, but by that distinctive metallic sound which accompanied it. A sound, it suddenly occurred to him, which was beginning to strike him as vaguely familiar. What the hell was she wearing—chains?

"Lacey?" he called over his shoulder. "Did you just ask me something about crows in these hills?"

After a moment to calm herself, she tiptoed back to the door and poked her head around the corner again. Hawke had turned around in his chair, leaving her with no choice but to meet his gaze with a broad smile. "I was just wondering if your fine mountains are home to any crows. I thought I heard the cawing of one the other day."

"That's probably what you heard all right. Those pesky birds are pretty much everywhere up here." Hawke closed the ledger and slid it inside his jacket pocket. Then he stood, stared at her for a long moment as if weighting his options, and finally said, "I'm on my way out to the corrals now to get busy with the horses. Seems to me I promised you an introduction to Phantom the day his filly was born. Would you like to come along and meet him?"

Lacey beamed with pleasure at the suggestion, but she had not forgotten her earlier anger. She had every intention of getting hold of that ledger one day soon and finding out exactly what it was that displeased Hawke so about her. For now, she just smiled and said, "Aye, and I would be most happy to make his acquaintance at long last. Thank you kindly for askin'."

Though early morning yet, the day outside was bright and clear, nothing short of gorgeous. As they walked to the stud's corral, Lacey dropped her gaze to Centennial Valley, a gently sloping saucer of pastureland, rocks, and sagebrush lying directly below the mountaintop where Hawke had built his home. In daylight, she could easily see the sparkling creek winding through the aspens which bordered the mare's enclosure, and also that the ribbon of water cut across a meadow carpeted with bluebells and buttercups, a sight unlike anything she'd seen in Ireland.

Suddenly filled with a heady sense of freedom, the panorama before her drove away the last of Lacey's anger as she followed along behind Hawke breathing deeply of the pine-scented coolness all around her. Then at once, she picked up the distinct aroma of horses. They'd arrived at the smallest corral, a fenced arena whose walls were much higher than the other enclosures on the ranch. In that pen stood a sleek gray stallion with a thick silvery mane and matching tail which swept the ground.

As they approached him, the high-strung animal began to strut around the perimeters of his pen, tossing his head and snorting. By the time Lacey and Hawke were within two feet of the fence, the stud was charging toward them, skidding to a stop, then rearing and pawing the air in defiance.

"Don't get any closer," Hawke said, warning Lacey away from the fence: "As you can see, it doesn't take much to get Phantom excited."

The stallion reared again, this time emitting a shrill whinny, then spun on his hind legs and roared off across the pen in a dead run. After skidding to an abrupt halt just before crashing into the fence, the animal wheeled around and raced to the center of the ring where he began to paw the ground.

Instead of being frightened by the beast, a fascinated Lacey moved a couple of steps closer to the enclosure. "There now," she said, calling to the stallion as she stuck her left hand between two slats and into the corral. "'Tis Lacey O'Carroll come to meet up with you. Come smell the palm of my hand and you'll see that I'll not be hurting you or giving you any—"

Phantom suddenly charged the fence faster than she would have believed such a large animal could move. If Hawke hadn't grabbed hold of her shoulders and dragged her away from the corral in that same instant, the stud might have smashed against Lacey's outstretched arm, breaking her wrist, or worse.

His hands still firmly clenched to her shoulders, Hawke shook her a little. "Didn't I tell you not to get too close to him?" he shouted. "That animal's not only dangerous, but crazy."

Although Lacey knew he couldn't possibly guess how that word stung her, making her feel defensive, and more sympathetic than ever toward the agitated stallion, she ignored his outburst. Instead, and even though he still held her shoulders bracketed between his hands, she defiantly turned her head away from him and stared at the beast. Phantom's nostrils were flaring and snorting at regular intervals, and he kept one big brown eye pinned to her as he loped around the perimeters of his enclosure. Was he committing her face to memory should she be fool enough to approach him again? Or was he simply as curious about her as she was about him?

Hawke shook her again, demanding her attention. "Lacey? Are you listening to me?"

"Aye," she finally said, too accustomed to doing what she was told to hold out any longer. "I'm listening and hearing what you have to say, but I can not tell you that I'm liking the words much. 'Tis mean of you to be callin' anything, man or beast,
crazy
."

"Well, excuse the hell out of me, ma'am." His expression and his tone were anything
but
apologetic. "Crazy pretty much covers the way that horse behaves on occasion, so crazy is what I call him. He deserves it."

With a toss of her head, Lacey turned her gaze back to the stallion. "Maybe that horse would not deserve it or behave so badly if you did not act as if you expect him to be so... so overwrought. Did you ever consider that? Seems to me that your prized stallion might be a wee bit saner if you did not treat him as if he were different from the other horses." At least that's the way she'd felt under similar circumstances. Feeling indignant on her own behalf as well as the animal's, she tossed in, "He probably wishes to run with them, instead of being penned up alone the way he is."

"One afternoon in a foaling stall, and suddenly you're an expert on horses, is that it?" Hawke's voice was deceptively quiet, for in the next moment, he hauled Lacey up close to his hips, almost, but not quite making full contact with her. As he'd planned, she snapped her head back around to face him, her big blue eyes wide with surprise.

"
Running
," he went on to say, "is not exactly what he wishes to do with the other horses. Phantom is my stud, understand? The rooster among my mares. If I were to turn him loose with them and their yearlings, he'd—"

"Arrah; and I-I think I understand what you mean." Blushing violently, she lowered her lashes. "I suppose I am sounding a bit the expert, but 'tis only because I do feel a kinship with the horses—really I do, and thought I might understand this gentleman's frustrations a wee bit."

At that moment, Hawke found himself wondering if she had any inkling of the kind of frustrations she'd set to growing in him—or if she understood how much
this
gentleman would like them eased. She was right about the one thing, however—Lacey did seem to have a natural feel for horses, an innate gift he hadn't recognized in anyone so quickly since the day he first introduced Crowfoot to his herd. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him, in many ways, the Irish miss and the young Crow Indian were a lot alike.

Puzzling over that realization, Hawke gentled his voice. "You are getting along with the horses just fine, but with that ability, you've got to learn a healthy respect for the animals. Without that respect, working with them could cost you at least a few broken bones, if not your life."