Wyoming Wildfire (8 page)

“What kind of horse have you chosen for me?” she asked, moving toward the door.

“I’d rather talk about you than horses,” he said, having forgotten all about their plans to ride.

“I thought cowboys worshiped their ponies,” she continued, determined to change the focus of their conversation.

“Not Dusty,” Burch said, giving in reluctantly and following her. “He hasn’t had a saddle on his back much since Aunt Ada gave up riding. He’s no good as a cow pony and I just keep him for Balaam and Sanchez.”

“It doesn’t sound like you have much faith in my riding.”

“Easterners are usually dangerous with a horse or rifle, but I’m willing to be convinced.”

“I admit I’m more used to driving, but I’ll prove to you that Virginians are as good as anybody when it comes to horses.”

The ranch buildings lay behind the house and stretched along the creek up toward the canyon. To reach them they had to travel a rock-strewn path that ran through the remains of a flower and herb garden. The mere existence of such neglect would normally have been an affront to Sibyl’s sense of organization and would have drawn her immediate attention, but this morning she was only conscious of Burch’s nearness. Nothing vegetable or mineral could compare to the vitality and magnetism of the animal at her side.

“Out here no man walks when he can ride,” Burch informed her, “and a wagon isn’t considered an acceptable substitute.”

“I wasn’t thinking of a wagon,” Sibyl said, tossing her golden hair vigorously. “A smart buggy just big enough for Aunt and me, with a high-stepping horse between the shafts, would make a nice appearance.”

“Just the kind of horse to stick his foot in a gopher hole or be spooked by a bull,” he stated derisively.

“He wouldn’t,” she replied, stung.

“He would if he saw a wolf or got caught in one of our thunderstorms.”

“And your cow pony keeps his head through all these terrors? How did you manage to develop this paragon in such a short time?” Really, she didn’t know what there was about this man that made her put up with his conceit.

Balaam shuffled out of one of the sheds ahead, cutting off Burch’s reply. “I was just coming to fetch you, Miss Cameron,” he said, sending a black stream of tobacco juice into the dust beside the path. “I got you some of them hens you wanted.”

“She doesn’t need you going after sage hens, Balaam. The boys and I can bring her all she wants.”

“It ain’t that kind of hen.”

“He offered to catch some of your Aunt Ada’s chickens that escaped,” explained Sibyl.

“And I did, too, miss. I sneaked up on them last night when they was roosting in them trees and I caught me near ’bout a dozen. Just as easy as stealing pies off a sill.”

“Did you build a pen?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I cut their wing feathers just like you told me. But I don’t know’s you’ll be getting many eggs from them, not for a while leastways. They’s all spring chickens or old hens. Don’t look much like laying stock to me.”

“Then catch me a few more. If nothing else, we can have a good pot of chicken and dumplings. But make sure the coop is sturdy. I don’t want coyotes, or whatever kind of varmints you have out here, to get them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Balaam promised, and shuffled away very pleased with his renewed importance on the ranch.

“You don’t let any grass grow under your feet, do you?”

“I won’t make the obvious rejoinder,” she said, kicking up a cloud of dust. “I can’t imagine why you were so careless with the cow and chickens. And how could you ever get along without eggs and butter?”

“I never really noticed,” was his indifferent response, but he favored her with such a strange look that she was sure he was thinking of something else altogether. She lost any interest in discovering what it might be when he led a wheezing nag with a grass belly and sagging back from under the shed. It walked, with eyes nearly closed, as though it required its total concentration just to lift each foot. Sibyl didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or turn on her heel.

“I didn’t expect to dazzle you with my skill in the saddle,” she said, rallying her sense of the ridiculous, “but then I didn’t expect to have to wake the horse before I could ride him.” A forced laugh failed to hide her injured pride.

Burch had chosen Dusty to tease her. “I’ll saddle another horse,” he grinned sheepishly.

“Don’t bother. At least I know he won’t run away with me. Where did you find this old sidesaddle?”

“It belonged to Aunt Ada. It’s a little cracked, but it’ll do until I can have one made for you.” Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms.

“Put me down!” she commanded sharply, surprised out of her determined politeness.

“I can’t if I’m going to lift you into the saddle,” he replied with irrefutable logic.

She wanted to tell him that it was his holding her so closely she objected to, but she dared not let him know how strongly she was affected by his nearness; he was bound to think of a way to take advantage of it. His brilliant gray eyes looked deeply into hers, disconcerting her so much that she lowered her gaze.

“You’ll have to relax a mite,” he needled her. “If you stay this stiff, you’ll slide right out of the saddle, and then I’ll have to catch you again just to keep you from hitting the ground.’’

He was taunting her, his own excitement at her nearness attacking his reason and control. She cudgeled her brain to think of something that would show him how utterly wrong he was and at the same time undermine his momentary advantage over her. “Relax,” he urged in a softer voice, “I’m not going to drop you.”

“I didn’t expect to be so fortunate,” she replied dryly, able to ease the tension in her muscles only slightly.

“That’s a little better. You can put your head on my shoulder if you like, just to keep from having to hold it up, you understand.”

“Put me down and stop trying to maul my person. You should be ashamed to take advantage of me with such a shabby trick.”

“It wasn’t a trick.”

“It was too.”

“I’m not ashamed of it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. I don’t think you could be shamed.”

“But I can.”

“Please don’t tell me what it would take. I doubt my maidenly modesty could stand the shock.”

“I think you could stand just about anything.”

“I hope that’s not your idea of a compliment.”

“It’s a Wyoming compliment.”

“Then Wyoming has a lot to learn about manners.”

“And Virginia has a lot to learn about having fun.”

“Put me in that saddle or let me down this minute,” she demanded, trying to calm her racing pulses.

“I can’t talk you into staying here?”

“Certainly not!”

“I was afraid you’d feel that way.”

The big lummox had the gall to look disappointed. She would have perished rather than admit she liked his arms too well for her own comfort.

“Up you go,” he forewarned her and, with an expert toss, landed her comfortably in the saddle.

“I can tell you’ve done this before.”

“Just practicing for you.”

She garnered up the reins. “You have a smooth answer for everything, but don’t think you’ve fooled me. Is there no way to get this slug moving?” she asked, getting no response from the reins or the gentle pressure of her knees.

“You’ve got to wake him up first,” he said, giving Dusty a whacking good slap on the rump. The startled horse’s eyes flew open and he bounded forward with a loud snort. Sibyl nearly lost her seat, but by the time she had regained her balance, the lazy brute had dropped out of a gallop, and it was an easy task to convince him to return to the shed.

“I’d have him run you down if I thought he was up to it,” she threatened, half angry and half amused.

“There’s no call to hurt the old creature’s feelings.”

“He’s too insensate to hear a word I’ve said,” she said, sliding from the saddle before Burch could move to help her. “I want to ride astride and I want a horse that’s more alive than dead.”

Burch grinned wider than ever and disappeared into the barn only to reappear a moment later with a well-favored gelding already saddled and bridled.

“You’re the most deceitful, conniving man I’ve ever had the misfortune to be related to,” Sibyl said with real feeling.

“Only by marriage,” he chuckled, hugely enjoying her discomfiture but secretly pleased that she was not taken in by his tricks.

“That’s the only consideration that allows me to hold up my head. Now either provide me with a mounting block or show me the nearest fence.”

“I can mount you.”

“And dangle me helplessly in your arms while you stand about gabbing nonsense? No, thank you.”

“I thought you liked my arms.”

“You thought no such thing. Where is that fence?”

“I’ll help you up.” She regarded him skeptically. “I promise to do it right this time.”

“This is your last chance to be a man of your word.”

He scooped her up and for a brief moment held her tightly against his chest.

“You perfidious—” she began angrily, but he merely laughed and helped her into the saddle.

“I keep my word, even when I don’t want to.”

“It’s good to know you have at least one redeeming trait,” she countered, trying to soothe her ruffled nerves before her agitation communicated itself to her horse.

“Just one?” he quizzed her before producing a piercing whistle that made Sibyl wince.

“It’s possible you have a few more,” she admitted, “but you’ve kept them so well hidden, I can’t guess what they might be.”

A huge white stallion with an Arabian head and quarter horse rump charged out of the barn and up to them. He nuzzled Burch, almost knocking him down in his attempt to find the sugar he knew was hidden in the cowboy’s pockets. “That’s two,” Sibyl told him with a merry twinkle. “You’re good to your horse.”

She kicked her mount into a canter and then an easy gallop. She had no idea where she was going, but she wanted to get a head start on Burch. But she underestimated the experience of a cowboy trained on the range, where mounting his horse out of a sound sleep is almost second nature. Silver Birch—the hands had given his horse that name as a joke and it had stuck—bounded forward the instant Burch’s hands clasped the saddle horn. With a hop and a swing, Burch was in the saddle, thundering after Sibyl before she had gone twenty-five yards.

Sibyl exulted in the chase and the exhilaration of having a good horse under her and the open prairie ahead. It brought back memories of her childhood, when she rode her pony at a headlong gallop across the countryside, racing pell-mell over every hill, the wind streaming through her long golden hair and bringing tears to her eyes. Sibyl glanced over her shoulder at Burch following her, and she laughed for sheer joy. His powerful stallion covered the ground with enormous strides, but Burch weighed a hundred pounds more than Sibyl and his mount could only cut into her lead by slow inches.

Sibyl was elated with the success of her gambit. The morning was still cool, and the limitless horizon gave her a feeling of unfettered freedom; and clean, crisp air and vigorous exercise brought a blush to cheeks as soft as down. Burch drove up on her right, shouting and gesturing at something ahead, but she didn’t want to listen; she felt so good she wanted to ride forever, and she swung sharply away from him. Burch yelled his warning again, but the cold fear in his voice was caught and thrown back by the onrushing wind. He set down to ride in earnest, grimly lashing Silver Birch across the shoulders with all his strength.

Sibyl rode her hardest, but Silver Birch was a magnificent animal and, under Burch’s punishment, closed the gap quickly. Burch caught her bridle and swung her around in a great circle until she came to a stop facing the ranch.

“Why in hell didn’t you stop when I called you?” he bellowed, his face dark with fury and his features still rigid with alarm. The laughter died in Sibyl’s eyes.

“I just wanted to beat you,” she answered, baffled by his rage.

“Wanted to break your neck, you mean.”

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me,” Sibyl snapped, even more confused by his obvious relief than by his anger. Could he have been afraid she would beat him?

“What you need is someone to tan your backside when you’re so headstrong.”

Sibyl’s anger boiled up, shattering all her resolution. “Not even my father dared strike me.”

“It’s not what I’d like to do myself, but by God I’ll flog you if you ever pull that stunt again.”

Sibyl forgot she had ever wanted to be nice to him. “If you touch me, I’ll put a hole through you big enough for two weasels to run abreast.”

“Anyone dumb enough to ride a strange horse at full gallop over unfamiliar ground wouldn’t know which end of a gun to point.”

“If you think I’m so stupid, you can have your precious horse back and I’ll walk back to the ranch.”

“You can break your own neck any time you like,” he continued, ignoring her remark, “but I paid two hundred and fifty dollars for that horse, and I’ll not see him killed just because of your childish desire to show off in front of a man.”