The Horseman's Bride (7 page)

“You’ll stay until Galahad breeds my mares?”

“Only if I think it’s safe.”

“And if you don’t, for whatever reason?”

“Then I’ll ride out of here, and you’ll never see me or the stallion again. Do we understand each other?”

“Yes. And don’t worry, you have my word.” Clara realized she was trembling. She put out her hand to seal the bargain. His big, leathery palm enfolded her fingers in a brief but firm handshake. Something like tenderness flickered in the blue depths of his eyes, then vanished.

“I’d better be getting back to work,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on your mares and let you know what happens.”

“Thank you. I guess I’ll be going home now.”

Neither of them moved. Clara stood gazing up at him, her feet rooted to the ground. What was she waiting for? Did she want the man to kiss her?

Yes, heaven save her, she did.

He leaned toward her, his face filling her vision. His lips parted. Driven by instinct, Clara strained upward. For the space of a heartbeat time froze. Then, without a word, he straightened, turned away and strode out of the barn.

Clara stood quivering in the straw, waiting for her pulse to resume its normal rhythm. Anger began a slow simmer in her belly, its heat rising to the roots of her hair. How could she have made such a fool of herself? She’d behaved like a silly schoolgirl. Tanner probably thought she didn’t have a brain in her head.

Tarboy nickered, his nose butting her shoulder as if to remind her it was time to go. Willing herself to move, she led him out of the barn and swung into the saddle. A furtive glance around the farmyard confirmed that Tanner was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly all Clara wanted was to go home. The past twenty-four hours had been like a runaway ride down the face of a mountain, leaving her physically and emotionally drained. She would swing by the porch for a quick goodbye to Mary. Then she’d head home for a hot bath and a nap under the pink eiderdown she’d kept on her bed since childhood.

She would rest, read and do her best not to think about the man who called himself Tanner.

Tanner stood in the shadow of the ruined hay shed watching Clara gallop away. On horseback she was so beautiful that she made his throat ache—her back
straight and proud, her hair flying like a silk banner, her denim-clad buttocks bouncing in the saddle.

He stifled a groan at the memory of holding her against him, feeling the warm contours of her body, the ripe moons of her sweet little bum cupped in his hands. When she’d ground herself against his arousal, he’d damn near exploded on the spot. It had been all he could do to push her away. The flash of hurt in her eyes had cut him like a razor.

He’d seen that same hurt again moments ago when he’d resisted the temptation to kiss her plum silk lips. One day Clara would thank him for his restraint. But for now she was young and hot-blooded, driven by inner forces she could barely understand, let alone control. She was still discovering her power over men, still testing its limits. As an experienced male of twenty-nine, Jace shuddered to think where her curiosity might lead her next, especially with the wrong kind of man. Maybe he should speak to Mary about giving her granddaughter a firm talking-to.

Make that suggestion, and the good woman would likely run him off the place with a shotgun blast.

Jace watched Clara until she disappeared beyond the gap he’d left in the fence. Then he turned his attention to the ruined hay shed. By now, he was feeling all right. Whatever the cause of the fever, it had left him no worse than a little weak. Another day or so, and he’d be as good as new.

Meanwhile he had work to do. He would start with cleaning up the soggy hay and replacing the roof. That
should keep him occupied through tomorrow. After that…

His gaze wandered to the grassy paddock beyond the barn, where Galahad was sniffing at the bay mare’s haunch. Maybe the breeding would happen soon. Then, with the mares pregnant and Clara’s wish satisfied, all he’d need would be an excuse to leave.

Maybe he’d head south this time—all the way to Mexico, where he’d be safe. He had never been to Mexico. Maybe he’d like it. Maybe he could even find a new life there.

But wherever he went, Jace knew that his dreams would be haunted by a pair of sunlit brown eyes—eyes he would never see again once he left Colorado behind.

By the time she neared home, Clara’s spirits were sagging. She’d always felt so sure of herself, who she was and where she wanted to take her life. But the past twenty-four hours had shattered what she’d known as truth. She was adrift in a sea of uncertainty where nothing was solid or secure.

She’d never thought of herself as anyone but the daughter of Judd and Hannah Seavers. Now her whole identity had shifted. She was the illegitimate child of a charming, reckless man who’d fathered her in a moment of bad judgment.

Was it the heritage of Quint’s hot blood that had caused her to catch fire in Tanner’s arms? Or was it simply her own nature?

Her lips still burned when she thought about kissing
Tanner. She’d kissed a few boys at parties and dances. The one she’d kissed the most, redheaded Sam Perkins, had gone off to war and come home in a pine box. Even with Sam, though, the kisses had been tentative and awkward. She’d always pulled away when she’d sensed he wanted more.

This time Tanner had been the one to pull away.

As for the rest—Clara closed her eyes as a tiny aftershock of pleasure coursed through her body. Now she understood why some girls got in trouble. It was because they couldn’t get enough of that wild honey sensation, that exquisite quivering that rose through the body to burst into flower like a tree of spring blossoms.

She’d always viewed herself as strong and sensible, one of the “good” girls. Now that perception had faded. She found herself thinking about Tanner, imagining herself in his arms, imagining the unspeakable things he could do to give her the pleasure she craved.

But what was she thinking? Everything about Tanner was wrong. What was more, he didn’t even want her. When they’d kissed, he’d been half out of his head with fever. Even then he’d managed to shove her away when things got out of hand. This morning, in the barn, he hadn’t laid a finger on her.

What in heaven’s name was she going to do?

There was just one correct answer to that question—leave the man alone.

Crossing the last field, she rode into the yard and closed the gate behind her. The house was quiet, the
Model T still missing from its place in the shed. Clara sighed with relief as she swung out of the saddle. With luck, her mother would be in town for hours, waiting for the simple plank bridge to be rebuilt across the creek. By the time she returned, there’d be no reason to question where her errant daughter had spent the night.

She unsaddled Tarboy, gave him some oats and spent a moment fussing over Foxfire. The chestnut colt nuzzled her pocket, looking for the treat that wasn’t there. Clara stroked the silky neck, her thoughts far away.

How would she feel, looking at her beautiful, perfect mother and knowing the truth?

How would she see her father—dear, kind Judd—who’d married his brother’s sweetheart to raise and nurture a child who wasn’t his?

How would she relate to Quint, who’d gone off adventuring and turned his back on a father’s responsibility?

And how would she see herself? What would she feel when she looked into the mirror and saw Quint’s hair, Quint’s dimpled cheeks, Quint’s eyes gazing back at her?

All this time. All the people who knew the secret. How could they not have told her? Should she confront her mother and demand to know why they’d kept the secret so long? Should she go to Mary and try to learn more?

Maybe it would be wiser to hold her tongue and wait for the right time.

As she came into the front hall, she heard Rosa, the family cook, rattling pans in the kitchen. Clara was hungry, but Rosa’s sharp eyes were bound to see that something wasn’t right and report it to her mother. Stomach growling, she hurried upstairs and ran a hot bath in the claw-footed porcelain tub. By the time she’d washed her hair and soaked away the tension in her muscles, her eyelids were drooping.

After toweling her hair dry, combing out the tangles and slipping into a clean white middy blouse and khaki knickers, she curled up under the eiderdown and closed her eyes for what she planned to be a short rest. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

The sound of an auto horn jarred her awake. Clara’s muzzy gaze seized on the small dresser clock. It was almost one in the afternoon. Flinging aside the eiderdown, she bolted to the window.

The Model T was just pulling up to the house. Her mother and Katy were in the front seat. The back was piled with grocery sacks, shopping bags and two hat boxes. The tap on the horn was a clear call for anyone within hearing to come and help unload.

Shoving her bare feet into oxfords, Clara bow-knotted the laces and hurried downstairs. Rosa, a pretty, plump Mexican woman who’d ruled the Seavers kitchen for as long as Clara could remember, bustled out the front door ahead of her.

Clara’s mother had climbed out of the car and was giving directions. “Katy, take the dresses and hat boxes
upstairs. Clara, you can carry those feed bags to the granary while I help Rosa with the kitchen things. Then you can drive the auto into the shed.” Hannah looked mussed and frazzled after spending an impromptu night in town on a saggy hotel bed. “Look at you, Clara,” she fussed. “Your hair’s a mess. And where are your stockings? I leave for one night and everything goes to ruin! Do you know whether your grandma made it home safely?”

Clara hesitated for a beat, not wanting to give herself away. “The last time I checked, the telephone was still out,” she hedged.

“Well, never mind, then.” Hannah brushed a stray lock out of her lovely cornflower-blue eyes. “Maybe after lunch you can ride over and make sure she’s all right. Take Katy along if she wants to go.”

“All right, Mama.” Clara sighed as she hefted a bag of oats onto her shoulder and headed for the granary. There’d be no getting out of another ride to Mary’s farm. Katy would want to go, and the girl was a notorious tattletale. Anything out of the ordinary would be duly noted and reported back to their mother—including the fact that Mary’s hired man was tall and handsome with blue eyes to melt a woman’s heart.

That description would be enough to send Hannah into a protective tailspin.

“Oh, wait, dear! There’s something else.”

Clara paused and turned at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“I just wanted to share some good news!” Hannah
was smiling, holding up an envelope. “This was waiting at the post office. It’s from your uncle Quint and aunt Annie.”

Clara felt her heart plummet.

“They’ve been in France for the past month, you know,” Hannah continued blithely. “Their boat just docked in New York. They’ll be spending a few days there and then stopping here for a visit on their way home.”

“When?” Clara forced the question from her tight throat.

“Let’s see…” Hannah murmured, thinking out loud. “The letter says they’ll be arriving June nineteenth. Why, that’s just ten days off. Goodness, so much to do before then!”

Snatching up an armful of purchases, she hurried toward the porch. Clara stood for a moment looking after her mother. Then she turned away to hide an ambush of emotion.

T
hey crossed the pastures in the blaze of afternoon sun, Clara astride Foxfire and Katy on Tarboy. Clara, whose golden skin never burned, was bareheaded. Katy, who’d inherited her mother’s fairness, wore her brother’s old straw fishing hat over her thistledown braids. She’d abandoned her town dress for the ticking-striped denim overalls she loved. At thirteen she was tall for her age, with gangly legs and features that had yet to come into balance. In a few years she’d doubtless be a pretty young woman. But she seemed determined to put off that time as long as she could.

In spite of the storm the previous night, the day was clear and warm, the distant fields bright gold with the bloom of wild mustard. Droning bees burrowed into patches of red clover. Where the horses walked, clouds of white butterflies rose out of the grass. Katy carried a basket packed with jam tarts from the town bakery and a batch of the fragrant cinnamon rolls that Rosa
called
caracoles
, because of their shape, like the coiled shell of a snail. She shifted the basket from one arm to the other as she spoke.

“Why do I have to carry this? Why not you?”

“Because Foxfire might buck and make me spill the basket. Tarboy won’t.”

“I bet I could ride Foxfire. Can I ride him home?”

Clara shot her sister a stern look. “Don’t even think about it. He’s barely saddle broken.”

“Please,” Katy begged. “Just for a little way. I know I could ride him if you’d let me.”

Clara shook her head. “Not yet, Katy. He could spook and throw you off. Maybe when you’re older…”

“Maybe when I’m older. That’s all I ever hear!” Katy pouted. “I hate being the youngest. I never get my way! You should see those dresses Mama and Miss Pennyworth picked out for me. Lace collars! Puffy sleeves! They’re hideous. Why do I have to dress up anyway?”

“Maybe someday you’ll
want
to dress up,” Clara said. “In a few years you’ll be old enough for dances—and boyfriends.”

“Spare me.” Katy rolled her eyes skyward, then lowered her gaze to her hands. “What’s it like to kiss a boy, Clara?” she asked in a subdued voice.

A memory flashed through Clara’s mind—Tanner’s arms molding her against him, his mouth igniting a fire of need in the depths of her body.

“That depends on the boy,” she said. “If you don’t like him it can be gross, like biting into a rotten apple. If you do like him…” Clara paused, searching for the
right words. “Then it’s nice. So nice you’ll want to do it again and again. But you shouldn’t do it too much. Things can get out of control that way.”

Clara glanced down at her hands. She knew how easily things could get out of control. She knew it all too well.

“You don’t have to tell me about
that
,” Katy said. “Beth Ann Ferguson had to get married last November, and she was only in the tenth grade. Now she’s as big as a cow!”

“Katy!” Clara shook her head. Her sister could be a real terror when she put her mind to it. “Really, you’re much too young to be thinking about such things.”

“You sound just like Mama! I only asked about kissing. That doesn’t mean I’m ever going to do it. Especially not with Henry Beecham.”

“Oh?” Now, this was something new. “So you like Henry Beecham, do you?”

“That smart aleck?” Katy flushed. “I can’t stand him! I wouldn’t kiss him if he paid me a hundred dollars!”

“That’s the spirit!” Clara teased. “You should hold out for at least a thousand!”

“I wouldn’t kiss Henry Beecham for all the money in the world,” Katy sniffed. “Hey, I see Grandma’s house! Race you!”

“Whoa!” Clara moved in close to stop her sister from kicking the black gelding into a burst of speed. “You might drop the basket. Besides that, Grandma’s new hired man fixed the fence a couple of days ago. You could ride Tarboy right into the new wire.”

“Grandma’s new hired man? The one with the stallion? Mama told me you were taking the mares over there to be bred.”

“That’s right.” Clara headed for the open space where the new gate was to go.

“Is he handsome?”

“The stallion? Yes, he’s a real beauty.”

“No, the hired man, silly. What does he look like?”

“He’s just a man,” Clara lied. “Nothing special.”

Nothing special at all
. She would have to keep reminding herself of that. Any day now, Tanner would mount up and be gone like a passing whirlwind. The most she could hope for was signs of the stallion’s bloodline in next summer’s foals. By the time those foals arrived, Tanner’s face would be nothing but a memory.

Why was the law after him? Clara wondered. What had he done? When she’d asked, he’d told her it had needed doing. But those words could be used to justify almost anything from petty theft to army desertion to murder.

It shouldn’t matter, she told herself. Tanner would soon be out of her life. Bringing him to justice would be someone else’s problem.

But he had kissed her until she ached. And he had lain in her arms, cradled against her body like a feverish, trusting child.

Whatever it took, she needed to know the truth about him.

“There’s Grandma!” Katy’s voice broke into her thoughts. “She’s out by the clothesline.”

Clara followed her sister’s gaze. Damp sheets, towels and pillowcases drooped from the line where Mary was emptying the wash water. Clara’s chest tightened with apprehension. What if her grandmother let it slip that she’d been here all night, alone with Tanner? The last thing she needed was for Katy to be carrying that juicy tale home.

The yard appeared strangely quiet. The unhitched buggy stood outside the barn where the boy from town would have left it. Timbers leaned against the side of the unfinished hay shed. In the paddock, under the big cottonwood tree, the two mares were sedately cropping grass.

There was no sign of Tanner or the stallion.

Clara rode into the yard, dismounted and looped Foxfire’s reins over the corral fence. The sense of betrayal stung like lye in a fresh cut. So much for trusting the man! She’d thought they’d come to an understanding that morning—Tanner would stay and she wouldn’t reveal what she knew about him. But he hadn’t kept his word. For all she knew, he’d never meant to.

Anger simmering, she strode across the yard to where Mary was securing a dishcloth with a wooden clothespin. Katy slid off Tarboy and followed her with the basket.

“Hello, you two!” Mary turned away from the clothesline with a smile on her face. “What a nice surprise! I was about to sit down on the porch and rest my feet.”

Clara exhaled with relief. So far, at least, her grandmother had remembered to keep her secret.

“We brought you a treat, Grandma.” Katy held up the basket. “
Caracoles!
Rosa just made them this morning. And Mama put in some tarts from the bakery.”

“Goodness, this calls for a celebration!” Mary said. “I bought some lemons in town yesterday, and they just arrived with the buggy. I’ll go inside and make some lemonade.”

“I can make the lemonade, Grandma.” Clara hurried up the porch steps. “You sit down and rest.”

“Thank you. The least I can do is come inside and keep you company. We can visit while you work.” Mary glanced toward Katy. “Why don’t you let your horses into the paddock, dear? That way they won’t have to stand in the hot sun.”

“Sure! Good idea!” Katy set the basket on the porch and trotted off toward the corral where Tarboy and Foxfire were tied. Clara opened the front door for her grandmother and followed her inside.

While Mary took a seat at the table, Clara washed the lemons and placed them on the cutting board. “I see that Tanner’s moved on,” she said, trying to sound disinterested. “Should I have Mama send somebody over to fix the hay shed?”

“No need for that. Tanner’s still here.”

Clara felt the leap of her pulse. “But I didn’t see him or the stallion, and I thought—”

“You were mistaken, dear. Tanner started off fixing the shed, but I was worried about his lifting that heavy roof when he’d been so sick. So I ordered him off to ride the fence and check for any storm damage.”

“Oh.” Clara felt the telltale rise of color in her cheeks. She sliced a lemon in two and began squeezing juice into the glass pitcher.

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t getting too attached to him, are you? You know that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Yes, I know.” Clara’s color deepened. “Has he told you much about himself?”

“Nothing I could put a finger on. But I’ve lived too long not to know when a man’s got secrets. Not that I’m saying he’s bad, mind you. I’d trust Tanner with my life. But he’s a magnet for trouble. A girl would be foolish to give her heart to a man like that.”

Clara sliced another lemon. “I hear you, Grandma. And believe me, you’ve nothing to worry about. I—” She broke off at a sound from outside. “What was that?”

“It sounded like a scream!” Mary was already on her feet. Clara rushed past her and burst out onto the porch.

Beyond the corral, she could see Foxfire bolting across the paddock. Katy was clinging frantically to the chestnut gelding’s back.

Please, God, no!
Clara raced for the paddock gate. Foxfire was headed for the far fence. If he jumped and failed to clear the barbed wire, horse and rider could go down in a horrific tangle of ripped flesh and broken bones. Katy could be killed or maimed for life.

The little fool! She just had to try it!
Clara prayed with all her strength as the colt neared the fence, gathered his strength for the leap and soared over the top. For the space of a heartbeat his body seemed to
hang in the air. Then his hind legs cleared the wire by a hairbreadth and he was down on the other side, staggering for balance. Righting himself, he wheeled and headed for the open fields with Katy hanging on to his back.

Tarboy was already saddled. Clara sprang onto his back and galloped him out of the gate. The black cow pony was smart and steady, but he was getting along in years and, even in his prime, he couldn’t have matched Foxfire for speed. Clara’s best hope was to keep the colt in sight and pray that Katy could hang on until he tired and slowed down.

Clara railed at herself as she raced Tarboy around the paddock fence. Why hadn’t she realized her sister would try something like this? Katy was short on judgment and chafing to test her limits. If anything happened to her, Clara knew she would never forgive herself.

Foxfire was gaining distance. Clara could see him now, a hundred yards off, streaking through a field of blazing yellow mustard blooms. Katy, hatless now, had lost the reins and was clinging to the colt’s neck. Her knees were awkwardly bent, feet out of the stirrups. With no control, she bounced dangerously at the slightest turn. The poor girl had to be wild with terror.

The colt was racing along the base of a low hill. Ahead lay a patch of bog. It was a treacherous, oozing spot of land, marked by sickly yellow grass, swarming gnats and unexpected sinkholes—a place where a horse could easily go down and break a leg. And Foxfire was flying straight toward it.

Clara pressed Tarboy harder, but the little black gelding was already giving his all. There was no way to stop Foxfire and save Katy from what lay ahead. Helpless and sick with dread she watched the colt carry her sister toward the bog and disaster.

It was only then that she saw the stallion. With Tanner in the saddle, Galahad came thundering across the flatland, long legs pumping, powerful body stretched in a blinding burst of speed. By now Foxfire was beginning to tire. In any case he was no match for the big stallion.

Clara eased the lathered Tarboy to a canter, watching from a distance as the stallion swooped in like a hawk on its prey. Foxfire was almost in the bog. Would Tanner be able to stop him, or was it already too late?

Heart in her throat, she watched Tanner bring his horse in hard alongside the racing colt. He could pull Foxfire to a halt by seizing his bridle. But the colt would almost certainly rear, flinging Katy hard to the ground under his trampling hooves.

Clara’s breath caught as she realized what Tanner was trying to do. He had made a choice—the only choice he could make.

He moved Galahad in closer, pressing the colt’s flanks. His hand flashed out to grip the back straps of Katy’s overalls. “Let go!” he shouted. “Now!”

In a single motion he jerked her off the saddle and heaved her in against him. She dangled at his side, gasping as he swung the stallion, reined him to a halt and dropped her safely into the grass. As she collapsed in a sobbing heap, Foxfire rocketed into the bog.

Given the rain-filled holes and the colt’s momentum, what happened next was almost to be expected. Clara heard the snap of bone and the scream as Foxfire pitched forward heels over head and went down. Seconds later she reached Katy, flung herself out of the saddle and gathered her close.

“I’m sorry, Clara,” Katy sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. You’re all right. That’s all that matters.” Clara glanced up. Tanner had dismounted. She caught the gleam of the .38 in his hand. “Wait,” she told him, then turned back to her sister.

“You’re to get on Tarboy and ride him back to Grandma’s,” she said. “Not too fast, remember he’s tired. Let Grandma know you’re all right. Then take Tarboy to the barn and rub him down. You know what to do.”

“But what about Foxfire? He’s hurt.” Katy’s tear-swollen eyes were like red holes in her face. She’d grown up on a ranch. She had to know what needed to be done. But she was all innocence and denial.

“Tanner and I will take care of him,” Clara said. “You go back to the house. Now, Katy.”

Katy stumbled to her feet, climbed onto Tarboy’s back and nudged the gelding to an easy trot. Clara watched as they moved off through the mustard field like a black boat in a sea of blazing yellow. Her eyes stung. Her throat was raw with emotion. She had come so close to losing her little sister. But there were other things to think about now.

Foxfire’s front leg lay at a grotesque angle, the bone shattered. The colt’s breathing was shallow. His eyes
rolled with pain. Tanner cocked the pistol. “I’ll put him out of his misery for you,” he said.

Clara stopped him with a touch on the back of his hand. “No, give me the gun. He’s my horse. I’ll do it.”