The Bride Wore Spurs (The Inconvenient Bride Series, Book 1) (27 page)

Chapter 14

"Relax, Lacey, let your hips move naturally and bend your knees slightly. Don't try to force the rhythm, fall in time with it. You're too stiff. Lean back a little."

Exasperated by the barrage of instructions, most of which she didn't quite understand, Lacey impulsively raised her hands to the skies as if begging for help from up above. Both reins slipped from her fingers in the process. The moment the leather straps hit the dirt floor of the training ring, Dolly stepped on one of them, causing her to stumble and pitch forward. Lacey flew out of the saddle like she'd been shot from a cannon.

Hawke rushed to her side, and Dolly, who'd retreated to the other side of the ring, stood there eyeing her as if to say, "What are you doing down there?"

Lacey, still sitting in the exaggerated sprawl in which she'd landed, cursed as she wiped the gritty Wyoming dust from her eyes. "Damn the bit and these miserable riding lessons, too."

"Hey, Irish," Hawke said, dropping to his heels beside her. "Are you all right? Anything broken?"

She rubbed the ache out of her right wrist, then shook it. "I think I've a few bumps for my trouble, is all."

"Why'd you let go of the reins? You were doing just fine until then."

"I wasn't, and you cannot say that I was." Tears sprang into her eyes. "I cannot do anything right around here. Anything!"

"Oh, now that's not true and you know it."

But instead of calming her, Hawke's words increased her tears. Because he couldn't think what else to do, he gathered Lacey in his embrace and held her, giving her outburst time to run its course. He'd learned to do that and more in his quest to understand the woman beneath the unruly mop of coppery curls; most of all, he'd learned not to rush her, but to give the both of them a little more time in which to become better acquainted.

After their first intimate interlude in the barn and the doubts which had assailed him immediately following, Hawke quickly made a decision to ignore the things that could never be, and to go to work instead on concentrating on what was. After all, he'd never expected to have a wife in the first place, much less a perfect match. And who was he to brood or complain about Lacey's tendency toward secrecy, when he was at least as guilty in that department?

Because of this silent vow Hawke had made to himself, as far as he could tell, he and Lacey had come to know each other a lot better over the past few weeks; if in no other way, most definitely physically. He hadn't had a minute's trouble convincing Lacey to bed him after the first time, that was for sure. Since both of them had a fondness for the out of doors, more often than not, that bed was a secluded patch of meadow grass or a mat of pine needles deep in the forest behind the ranch. They'd even learned to laugh together over the fact that Hawke always took the added precaution of checking his wife's footgear before they made love, and removing any objects which might cause him bodily damage. Not that she'd quit wearing her lucky spurs altogether.

Another bonus during this period was the fact that Lacey had gradually begun to get over her extreme modesty, allowing Hawke more than just an occasional glimpse of her pert little breasts.

That loosening of her modesty extended to him as well. Now whenever he caught Lacey gazing at his naked body—an almost daily occurrence—her glances were less furtive, more curious and open. Hawke rather immodestly put this down to the method he used for getting to know her better; gentling, his specialty.

Gentling worked so well on his horses, Winterhawke trained animals were bringing top dollar in the area and Hawke's reputation as the finest horse-trainer around was spreading into the state of Colorado and the Dakota Territories as well. Some of the neighboring ranchers laughed at his methods, preferring the more rough and tumble force-breaking of stock, but with Hawke's way, there was less chance of ruining a good mount. And fewer broken bones.

So far, he'd never come across a horse that didn't respond to gentling, and had been able to turn even the most ornery steed into an animal worth its weight in gold. Now, he thought, holding Lacey tighter, even though he hadn't been looking for a wife or even thinking that he needed one, he'd found a woman who responded to him in much the same way. And she was worth far more than mere gold. The Irish miss brightened Winterhawke Ranch in a way he never could, making the entire spread seem more welcoming, warmer somehow. A part of that was the way she'd taken to the livestock. With the exception of the chickens, who still didn't know quite what to make of her, all the animals were very fond of Lacey, a talent that couldn't be forced or faked. Why did she have so much trouble seeing the good in herself? he wondered.

Her tears dried-up at last, Lacey pushed away from her husband and took a handkerchief from her skirt pocket. After drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she faced Hawke and made an attempt to apologize for ruining a perfectly good riding lesson.

"Please forgive my silliness, husband. I know that wailing is best left to the banshees," she paused for a hiccup, "and that all this blubbering cannot be much help in learning to ride one of your fine beasts. Maybe 'tis a better idea for me to leave the horses to you. I could try the mending again, I suppose."

Hawke couldn't have kept the burst of laughter in if he'd tried. Between Lacey's tear-and-dirt-streaked face, hair that as usual was half in and half out of its bun, and the memory of his flannel shirt sewed to the front of her skirt, he might have done some damage to his throat if he'd tried to keep it inside.

When his laughter ebbed, Hawke climbed to his feet, pulling Lacey up with him. "Is that really where you'd rather be on a beautiful day like this, Irish? In the house sticking your pretty little fingers with needles?"

Her stained features fell into a pout. "I would rather be shoveling up cow flop, and you know it, but I fear I don't have the talent to sit atop a horse. I ne'er will have."

"Well, then maybe I ought to send you to the barn. Last I looked, there was plenty of cow flop just waiting for someone to get on the business end of the shovel."

Lacey made an effort to keep her pout, but a grudging smile broke through anyway. "I wasn't serious about that, but I do wish I could cook your meals, mend your clothes, and ride horses the way you do. If I could only—"

"I like you just the way you are, Irish. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He caught her chin in the web of his hand, looked deeply into her eyes and impulsively added, "I don't care if you never do a thing around this ranch as long as you keep looking at me the way you do and smiling."

Afraid if he allowed himself to go on, he'd make a complete jackass out of himself, Hawke brought his lips down on Lacey's and kissed her for all he was worth. She'd begun crying again, he knew that when the salty taste of her tears slipped into the corners of his mouth, but Hawke kept on kissing her, holding her as if she might disappear should he let her go. Then at once, some second sense told him they were no longer alone.

Hawke abruptly released his wife and turned to find Crowfoot, who hadn't stopped by the ranch in over a week now, standing at the edge of the ring.

"Soldiers come," said the boy, pointing down the road. Then he turned as if to head for his hideout in the barn, but Hawke stopped him.

"Wait there a minute, Crowfoot. I want to talk to you." He took Lacey by the hand and led her to the other side of the ring. "You ought to go into the house now and wash up a little. I've got business to conduct with the cavalry, and you'd just be bored out here with us anyway."

She bristled, remembering the way he'd rushed her off the last time soldiers came to do business. "Save your false music for the animals without brains to understand the words or tongues to feed it right back to you." Lacey turned on her heel, her head held high, and added, "Just let me know when 'tis acceptable for me to come outside again." And with that, she swished her skirts and stalked off toward the house.

Hawke wasn't quite sure where he'd gone wrong with her, but he didn't have time to do a damn thing about it. The quartermaster from Fort Sanders was coming up the road along with a detail to fetch the horses he'd agreed to purchase. And Crowfoot was still waiting by the corral, pacing in place, looking more than a little anxious to get back to Three Elk—where surely he felt more appreciated. How in God's name, Hawke paused to wonder, had his life ever gotten so damned complicated?

As the cavalry officer neared, Hawke shouted, "Just give me a minute, and I'll be right with you." Then he hurried over to where Crowfoot waited, and asked, "Are you figuring on staying a while?"

The boy shrugged, averting his gaze.

"I'd really like it if you'd stick around here at least a week, Crowfoot. I realize that I kinda of ran you off before, but it was just so I could get acquainted with my new wife. I need your help around here, you know, and besides that—" Again he paused, swallowing a pea-sized knot of leftover jealousy. "Lacey's missed you, too. In fact, she's kinda upset right now. Maybe you could go to the house and say hello to her while I help the cavalry round up their horses."

Crowfoot stared hard at him a good long time, and for a moment, Hawke wasn't sure the boy was going to agree to anything. Finally, his eyes still a little hostile, he said, "I go see Lady. She likes Crowfoot." Then he was gone.

* * *

Inside the house, Lacey stalked from room to room, alternately cursing her husband for sending her away each time visitors came to the ranch, and lamenting the fact that she couldn't figure out what it was that made him feel so ashamed of her that he couldn't bring himself to introduce her to the soldiers outside. Hawke had told her several times over how pretty he thought she was, so Lacey was reasonably certain he didn't think her too plain to show off. She was well-spoken and mannered enough to get by in the American West, more so than most, in fact. So what was it about Lacey Winterhawke that embarrassed her husband so badly? Surely a stranger couldn't guess that she was unable to perform the most basic wifely duties just by merely making her acquaintance!

Pausing to glance at her reflection in the only looking glass in the entire place, a small mirror nailed to the wall by the hat rack, Lacey gasped. She figured she'd be a wee bit disheveled after the tumble she'd taken from Dolly, but not only was her hair messier than usual, her tear-streaked face looked like a map of the Laramie River and all its tributaries! Was it possible Hawke had sent her inside to spare
her
the embarrassment, not himself?

A light knock sounded at the door then, and Crowfoot poked his head inside. "Hi, Lady. I come in?"

"Oh, aye, and please do," she said, happy for the company. "Why don't you wait for me in the kitchen? There's a bowl of fresh-picked berries on the table just waiting for a lad like you to eat 'em all up. I need a moment to run upstairs and clean the dirt from my face."

Crowfoot didn't move toward the kitchen. He just looked at her closely, then let out a muffled giggle.

Her own image still sharp in her mind, Lacey laughed along with him. And in that moment, she saw a way to make a point with the boy. "Tis a frightful sight a little dirt can make of a person, is it no? And sad, too, when that person cannot see how one little speck of dirt might turn other folks away."

Crowfoot's expression was guarded, but reflective, so she went on. "I'm thinking you and I have been so quick to defend ourselves, we haven't taken the time to learn what Hawke can teach us. He is a very good teacher, too, I'm thinking. 'Tis possible, I think, that we haven't let him help us all he could. What do you say?"

Crowfoot stopped laughing immediately, frowned, then cocked his head to one side as if thinking the matter over. "Yes, lady. Possible."

"Good, then. Would you like to help me make a little surprise for Hawke, something so grand he'll be proud of the both of us no matter how it turns out?"

Crowfoot gave her a shy smile. "A surprise? Good idea, lady."

"All right then." She grasped his hands, ignoring the grit and days-old grime built up on his palms and fingers, and danced the boy around in a circle. "Time's a wastin.' Let us be getting to it."

* * *

After the cavalry left with their horses, Hawke was in such a good mood, he couldn't wait to get back to the house and share the account of the new deal with his bride. He'd hardly stepped one foot inside the door before she stopped him, insisting that the floors were wet and asking him to stay outside and finish his chores before joining her for the evening meal.