Smoketree (6 page)

“Didn’t mean to startle you none,” he said in his warm, slow voice.

I waved a hand. “No, no… I was just lost in thought.” I smiled at him. “Smoketree is so lovely—are there other ranches and houses up here?”

The big man eased his seat in the saddle. His hands braced the weight of his shoulders against the saddle horn, clasping the reins, and I heard the leather creak as the horse stomped a hoof. “No. Smoketree is the lone entry up here. The Forest Service holds the rest of it, but this ranch has been in the family for a long time. There’ve been Reynolds’s up here in the Peaks since the turn of the century. So you could say I’m mighty lucky to have a piece of all this beauty, Miss Clayton, even if it is only borrowed.”

“Borrowed?”

He smiled. “No man fully owns the land. He just takes out a mortgage and works it for a while, sort of a tenant for Him.” An upward nod left no room for doubt as to whom he meant. “We’ve been lucky enough to be sitting on one of the prettiest places in the country, but it isn’t really ours.”

I gestured toward the sign on the fence. “The government land…”

He frowned a little. “Yes, we’re surrounded by it.”

“Don’t you feel a little like the small fish in a pond of larger ones?”

He smiled. “So long as I’ve got a good horse under me and a roof over my head, I’m content. I don’t need to lay claim to section upon section of land.”

“Smoketree must be worth a lot of money,” I said quietly, knowing I treaded a narrow path. “And if you lose much more than a barn—”

“The barn is paid for,” he said calmly. “I have insurance, Miss Clayton.”

I opened my mouth to tell him Harper had said exactly the opposite, then closed it. It wasn’t my affair. I was only a guest, and he would not appreciate my prying.

I smiled lamely. “Good. But it will be difficult to build a barn that looks just like the first one.”

He nodded, his blue eyes saddened, and yet he smiled. But it did little more than stretch his mouth. “Can’t be helped,” he said briefly.

I put out a restraining hand as the horse’s blowing muzzle approached my face. “Nathan—” I stopped. I liked the man immensely and I respected his integrity as well as his pride and privacy… but I was also concerned. “Is there something wrong?”

He smiled. “Not at all. ”

That, I knew, was that. So I asked him about the destination of the trail we shared.

He gestured, shifting in the saddle. “It winds all along through there, edging the Forest Service land. You can’t get lost if you keep to it. The horses have beaten it smooth, so you’ll have no trouble in those shoes.”

I looked down at my thin leather flats. Perhaps they weren't the best thing for hiking.

Nathan grinned as he caught my rueful expression. “Just don’t stay out too long, or I’ll have to send someone to fetch you back. Maria’s got a barbecue planned for tonight’s supper, and we’ve got more guests coming in.”

Like Harper, he tipped his hat and went on.

I walked a while longer, in no hurry, just wandering along the trail. I felt luxuriously lazy, unpressured and unfettered, reveling in the sense of freedom. At last I spied a formation of tumbled boulders—granite, I thought—and went over to perch myself upon one. My seat was hard stone, but it felt good nonetheless.

I heard birdsong and the breath of wind through the needles and boughs. The breeze touched my face gently, like a lover; for a moment I thought of Tucker. I shied away from the imagery, then let it come, for had I not come to Smoketree to face up to my loss?

I sat very still upon the rock. I heard the whirring of a bird’s wings as it took flight; the rattle of a beetle in the dead needles on the ground; the staccato chattering of a nearby squirrel or chipmunk. And then I heard something more. The beat of horse hooves against a trail.

This time it was the wrangler. He rode the sorrel horse again, and I admired the smooth precision in the way the animal moved. He was nothing like the tall, fragile-legged thoroughbreds; he was nothing like Preacher, whose long legs and longer body spoke of gene manipulation in his distant past. This one was a heavier, stockier animal with fine, intelligent eyes, alert ears and a heavy jaw. The cowboy rode him easily and came down through the trees, forsaking the trail entirely. Pine cones and needles snapped beneath the iron-shod hooves.

He halted the sorrel next to my perch. “You lost?”

“No. Are you?”

Shadows stretched across his face and the brim of his hat hid much of his eyes. “No.”

I waited for further conversation. When it appeared there was none forthcoming, I decided to fish for it. “It’s too early for the barbecue, isn’t it? So Nathan couldn’t have sent you after me. What are you doing?”

“Riding.” He frowned minutely. “Nathan was here?”

“Briefly. He rode on about fifteen minutes ago.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I can catch up to him later. And no, he didn’t send me. I just came up to clear the smoke out of my lungs.”

His tone was level but I saw the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I wish we could have been more help last night. ”

“Nothing more to be done.” He shook his head slightly. “It was a goner the moment it was set.”

“Then you
are
certain it was deliberate?”

He cast me a sidelong glance of solemn evaluation. “I’ve known all along it was deliberate.”

I straightened on my rock. “What will you do?”

He rolled his shoulders briefly. “Build another barn.”

I sighed. “Not about that. About whoever it was who set the fire.”

“Not much I
can
do.” He shifted a little in the saddle, then cocked one leg up around the saddle horn. The sorrel nuzzled the ground for something to eat; Harper seemed oblivious to the horse, merely adjusting his balance automatically. “You see, there’s land developers after the ranch. They’re a pretty determined bunch. I got a feeling they’ll go to almost any lengths to get their hands on Smoketree… even so far as to sabotage the place until Nathan sells out of desperation.”

I straightened. “Would he?”

“Never.” Harper smiled a little. “Take it from me—never. Not in a million years.”

I had heard Nathan’s voice when he had told me about the guardianship of the land. No, he wouldn’t sell. Not in a million years. “Would you?” I asked impulsively. “Would you sell if Smoketree were yours?”

Harper did not smile. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask me that.”

For a moment I stared at him blankly. “What do you mean?”

“You obviously know about the deal Nathan and I worked out.” He shook his head, mouth twisted grimly. “Should have known better than to think we could keep it secret. People have a way of finding out things. ”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

He was unsmiling. “How much are you going to offer me, Miss Clayton?”

“Offer
you
? I thought Nathan was the owner.”

“Still is. But only half. The other’s all mine.”

He seemed to be waiting for something. I had no idea what it was, and didn’t have the mental energy to wonder. I waved a hand at him. “If you came out to ride, ride. Don’t let me keep you.”

The sorrel pawed at the carpet of pine needles, snorting as dust rose. Harper tapped him with one heel and spoke a single word: “Quit.” The horse quit. After a moment Harper dropped off the animal and came to slouch against a boulder near mine. Like me, he looked across the meadow below; unlike me, he was perfectly at ease. I still had the feeling he was after something.

“Horse needs a rest,” he said quietly.

“He looks fit enough to me.”

He shot me a glance from under the brim of his gray hat. I saw a teasing glint in his eyes. “So you know horses, do you?”

I scowled back. “You wouldn’t be riding him if he weren’t. And yes, I know horses—sort of.” I tacked the last part on in case he tested my claim.

The animal in question snuffled against the ground, still seeking edibles. He was contentedly unconcerned with the odd tension between his rider and myself.

Harper slid down until he squatted on his boot heels, leaning back against the fall of boulders. He picked a long wheat-like plant from the ground, pruned it, then stuck it between his lips. He turned it idly, staring into the distance.

“I’m not trying to be intentionally rude,” he said around the stem, “but sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“Maybe. ” I picked at a crust of greenish lichen.

“I take it he was a real s.o.b. about it.”

“What are you—oh.” I smiled. Then I laughed a little. “So, you still think I’m nursing hurt pride and a broken heart. Well, I’m not.” The sluggish pain rose up again, even as I spoke lightly. “He didn’t break off the affair, you see… he died. ”

Harper’s head came up. I saw the movement as a swing of the gray hat, and then he turned his head to look at me. I saw surprise in his eyes, and the faintest trace of bafflement. Bafflement? What had he expected to hear? But I also saw a bit of suspicion. Did he think I lied?

“I’m sorry.” His tone was noncommittally proper. “Is that what you’re running from?”

“Partly,” I admitted. That was all I intended to say, since my guilt was my own.

Harper sighed. His face was turned away from me so that I could see no expression, but I thought I had somehow surprised him. It was odd. What was he thinking? And why did I want to know?

“It won’t work,” he told me.

Escape hardly ever did. “Probably not,” I agreed.

“Then you might as well leave.”

I looked at him sharply. “But I just got here!”

“I told you it won’t work.”

“I’d at least like to give it a try,” I said, a little indignant. “How do
you
know it won’t work?”

“It won’t.” He stood up and pulled a gold pocket-watch from his jeans, flipped open the cover to read the time, then closed it and returned it to the pocket. “Nearly time for supper, Miss Clayton.”

“A little early yet, for me. I’ll be down later.”

“You don’t want to miss a meal. ”

“I won’t.”

One hand indicated the horse. “Care for a lift?”

I looked past him to the horse and considered the broad, smooth rump and my own inexperience. “Thanks just the same, but I think I’ll walk.”

He turned and swung up on the horse, then kicked a foot free of the stirrup. “Come on up. Sunny doesn’t bite, and neither do I.” He smiled. “I can’t just leave you here. My mother taught me better manners. And if you refuse, we’ll both be late for supper.”

I gave up. I stuck my foot in the stirrup and grabbed at the saddle. My scramble was awkward because Harper took up most of the room, but he grabbed my wrist and slung me toward the back of the saddle. The sorrel’s firm rump muscles bunched and shifted beneath my weight, nearly upsetting me, and I found myself clutching the wrangler’s lean waist for support.

He lifted the reins and clucked to the horse, who moved out with alacrity. Instinctively my arms tightened around the cowboy.

“Better,” he commented.

I sighed. “Let’s just go to the barbeque, Mr. Young.”

“Under the circumstances, Miss Clayton… you’d better call me Harper.”

I couldn’t help the smile. “Kelly.”

I pointed toward the Lodge as Harper aimed Sunny right past it. “Isn’t that where we’re going?”

“We have a horse to put away.”

I arched my brows in the direction of his back, which was not so far away. “We? Do you have a mouse in your pocket?”

It brought a brief laugh from him. “Hardly. But where I come from, turnabout’s fair play.” He lifted the reins and tapped Sunny with an eloquent boot heel. “We see to the horse first, then to ourselves.”

I did not contest the decision, since Sunny had, indeed, donated his services, but I thought it a somewhat devious way of finding volunteer grooms. Or non-volunteer grooms, for that matter.

Harper stopped the horse in front of the small wooden tack room Cass had indicated earlier, kicked his left foot free of the stirrup and motioned for me to climb down. I did so awkwardly, not bothering to borrow his hand. Why, I don’t know, save to show I could manage by myself. Some instinct warned me he considered me a helpless city girl. Perhaps I was, to some degree, but I was not a
fragile
female. Not at five-ten.

He stepped off, pulled the reins over Sunny’s head and dropped them to the ground. The sorrel snorted and nuzzled in the dirt, forever seeking something to eat. Deftly Harper flipped up the left stirrup, untied and unbuckled knots and fastenings, then dragged the saddle off the blankets and pad.

“Bring ’em in,” he instructed, and I caught the blankets and pad before all hit the dirt.

I followed him in, wrinkling my nose at the acrid smell of sweaty horsehair and unclean blankets. Harper settled the heavy saddle over one of the empty brackets extending from the wall and motioned for me to slap the pad and blankets down. I knew enough to arrange them on top of the saddle, upside down, allowing the air to dry them.

He nodded. “Not bad.”

“It’s been a while, but I’m not a complete tenderfoot.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He tossed me a brush. “Have at it.”

I grimaced and went outside to Sunny. He ignored me as I scrubbed and brushed at the wet spots on his body; back, the twin pads of his chest, and the rounded middle section I knew was called the barrel.

He was a sweet, gentle horse, and yet certainly not a mount for an inexperienced rider. He peered at the world out of big brown eyes, appearing quizzical with the bright chestnut forelock falling down between ears and eyes; tail swishing as he waited to be turned into his pen. I was aware of Harper slouching in the doorway of the tack room, watching how I tended his horse.

“What is he?” I asked.

“Quarter horse.”

“Like Preacher.”

He smiled. “Not at all. Preacher’s Triple-A running stock; Sunny’s just a cowpony. There’s a big difference between the two.”

I frowned at him. “I don’t see any cows.”

His smile widened. “No. But it’s the kind of horse I admire: big-butted, stocky, solid as a brick outhouse. None of those spindle-legged speed-demons for me.” He shifted his weight against the doorjamb. “There’s room for both in this world; no sense breeding one to the exclusion of the other.”