Western Spring Weddings

by Lynna Banning

  Chapter Three

  That evening while the four other ranch hands played poker at the long table, Gabe stood on the stoop of the bunk house and stared at the ranch house. His thoughts were in turmoil. Why hadn’t Rawlins let him go when he learned Riley was coming home? It didn’t make any sense. As he watched, a shadow passed by the window. Riley. Was she here for a visit? Or to stay? He’d sure like to know. Before long the lanterns were put out and they all turned in. Finally he did, too.

  The next day a steady rain kept everyone inside. Gabe mucked out the horse stalls and repaired the brake lever on the buckboard. He’d noticed yesterday that it barely held. While he worked, he stole glances at the big house, wondering what was going on inside. The chance he’d hoped for...catching Riley alone to talk to her...never occurred.

  The following day dawned bright and sunny, the earth washed clean from the rain. At the crowing of the rooster, Gabe sat up and stretched. He rose and dressed quickly and then pulled on his boots. He would work the stallion today, along with the two geldings Rawlins wanted broken. His shoulder was still sore from the last time he’d come off a horse. Seemed the foreman’s idea of initiation consisted of leaving the toughest work assignments for him. It was nothing Gabe hadn’t experienced before—in prison and when he was younger and going from ranch to ranch. It was never fun, but Johnson seemed to have an extra burr under his saddle concerning Gabe.

  He walked out to the well and pumped the handle until water flowed freely, then he washed his face and neck and slicked back his hair. Once he was done, he joined the others for breakfast in the long kitchen area of the bunkhouse. Rosaria ladled out biscuits with gravy and eggs. After chasing the meal down with a cup of coffee, Gabe bridled the stallion and led him to the corral to put him through his paces.

  The sun rose higher, warming his shoulders and back. He started working the stallion, making him back up, then rush forward and stop abruptly. He was a beautiful horse. Big, strong and sleek. Smart, too. Gabe barely had to think where he wanted the horse to move and the stallion sensed the direction. With only a slight change of weight he maneuvered the animal through a series of footwork. He would hate to see the animal go. Rawlins had mentioned a man was coming to see about buying the stallion sometime this week.

  Before long he sensed someone watching him and realized Brody was leaning on the corral fence. Gabe nodded to him briefly just to let the boy know he’d noticed him. After a good workout for the horse, Gabe walked it back to the stable and rubbed him down. Brody followed and watched, leaning over the door of the stall. He wore dark green pants with suspenders and a cream-colored cotton shirt. He wore the same cap that he’d had on before. The boy needed a wider brim. Hadn’t Riley at least purchased a decent hat for him in the dry-goods store?

  Gabe bridled the gelding he was to break to the saddle. A large, bay mustang—fourteen hands worth. He had been working with the horse for the past week, letting the animal adjust to his handling and trying to instill a sense of trust. He led the horse out to the corral and then stood in the middle with a long lead line, putting the gelding through its paces, round and round the perimeter of the corral one way and then the other until the horse was warmed up and attentive.

  Brody climbed up and sat on the corral railing.

  Gabe threw a blanket onto the gelding’s back. The horse handled that just fine, so after a while he grabbed the saddle from the stable and slowly lowered it to the horse’s back. The gelding shied a little, prancing away from him. As Gabe moved to soothe him, he saw a flash of yellow on the porch. Riley stood at the top of the steps wearing a yellow dress, her arms crossed over her chest, watching.

  Gabe cinched up the saddle, walked the horse around the corral twice, just letting him get used to the feel of the new weight on its back. Then he stopped to recheck the cinch strap and adjust the length of the stirrups to suit him. Slowly, methodically he worked, speaking in a low, quiet tone. The gelding shifted its weight and snorted nervously, craning its neck to see what Gabe was up to. Gabe stuck his boot in the stirrup and eased himself up, settling into the saddle. He spoke in low tones, encouraging, praising the horse.

  It helped for all of thirty seconds.

  The horse decided enough was enough and reared. Gabe had been expecting it and held on tight—one hand grasping the reins and the other holding on to a hank of mane while the gelding bucked. Coming down on all four legs at once, the horse kicked out with both its back legs. It repeated the motions once more, this time jarring him violently enough to get his way. “Damn!” Gabe flew through the air over the mustang’s head and then slammed against the base of a corral post.

  * * *

  Riley had stepped outside, intent on fetching her son, but now her attention was riveted on Gabe’s still form. Her breath had caught in her throat as she witnessed his flight and abrupt landing. He wasn’t moving! He wasn’t getting up! She gripped the porch railing, hesitant and unsure. Was he dazed and taking a moment to get his senses whipped back into order, or was he badly hurt?

  She glanced about the yard. Where were the other ranch hands? Why had they left him to do this alone? It was dangerous work for heaven’s sake! The bay snorted and pranced, coming dangerously close to Gabe’s still form.

  That spurred her. She ran down the path from the porch and across the yard to the corral. Slipping between the rails, she yelled and waved her hands, startling the mustang. With a snort, it backed away to the far side of the pen.

  “Ma!” Brody sat up straighter and appeared ready to jump down from his perch.

  “Check on Mr. Coulter!” She couldn’t have Brody in the corral aggravating the horse further. The mustang might do something unpredictable. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabe’s crumpled form.

  He moved slightly, enough that she saw his chest expand with a breath. Slowly he straightened his twisted body and then braced his hand against the ground to push himself up.

  She breathed a sigh of relief and her heart slowed to a more normal rate. When she heard a creaking sound to her left, she snapped her head around to see Mr. Johnson duck between the rails in the corral and move to catch the horse.

  “I’ll take over Miss Rawlins. You move on out of here. I’m sure your daddy doesn’t want you getting that pretty yellow dress dirty.”

  He’d obviously been watching. “Where were you?”

  Johnson looked amused. “Didn’t see a need to step in.”

  “He could have been hurt by that...that beast!”

  “By Lucky? He wouldn’t have hurt him.”

  His entirely too casual attitude irritated her. “You don’t know that!”

  He narrowed his gaze on her. “He’s just a half breed. What do you care?”

  “He’s a person!”

  “I’m fine, Miss Rawlins,” Gabe said, dusting himself off. He grabbed his hat from the ground and slapped it against his thigh a time or two to dislodge the chunks of dried mud. Then he took one more deep breath and walked over to take the reins from Johnson.

  The foreman snorted and handed them over.

  Gabe concentrated on calming the gelding, and by his words, she realized he was readying himself and the horse. He would ride it again. She hadn’t been around men much...only her son. Were they always so caught up in acting tough and independent? She let out an exasperated huff and slipped through the corral railing.

  “Riley!” her father called out from the porch. “Rosaria has breakfast ready.”

  “Brody...”

  He didn’t budge. “Maybe I want to stay here and see what happens.”

  Riley fisted her hands on her hips. She didn’t need a challenge from him now. Her pulse still hadn’t slowed all the way to normal. “I can tell you what is going to happen—the same thing over and over until the horse realizes it cannot win. That’s what is going to happen.”

  Bro
dy stuck up his chin. “Well, I want to see it.”

  “No.” She knew Gabe and Johnson watched. “I want you to eat with your grandfather and me.”

  Her son shot her a belligerent glare, but with grinding slowness climbed down from the fence. Riley followed him up the path to the house where her father waited.

  Once inside she filled her plate at the small buffet in the dining room. She wasn’t hungry—she was frustrated. Her son had purposefully challenged her in front of everybody.

  It was quiet while the three of them ate. Very quiet.

  She remembered watching the ranch hands break a horse when she was growing up. She had felt sorry for the horse, who had no choice in the matter. As a child, she didn’t understand why the breaking had to be done. Her father had said it was a silly, romantic attitude for someone whose livelihood came from a ranch and she had better get over it.

  Watching Gabe, those thoughts evaporated in the wake of realizing she was watching a master horseman. He exhibited patience and expertise. When the horse threw him, her heart nearly stopped. It took him so long to move that her chest hurt from holding her breath. It still hurt! The horse had nearly trampled him!

  And then to have him witness her issues with her son...

  She glanced across the table at Brody sitting there, sullen and angry. Starting the day together at the breakfast table had been a Rawlins tradition for as long as she could remember, and it looked as though her father wanted to instigate it again with her return, but even this might be a trial if Brody didn’t change his attitude.

  During his meal of eggs, toast and jelly, her father kept eyeing Brody. Finally he pushed back from the table. “What are you wearing?”

  Brody looked down at his cotton shirt and pants and then shrugged. “Clothes.”

  “I expect you to remove your hat while inside the house as a matter of respect.”

  Brody’s eyes narrowed angrily, but he slid the offending cap off his head.

  “I thought you picked up a decent hat for the boy,” he said to Riley.

  “I ain’t no cowboy.”

  Her father frowned. “You are a Rawlins, aren’t you? No grandson of mine is going to walk around the ranch dressed like a street urchin.”

  “This is what boys wear in Philadelphia,” Riley said. “And, yes, he does have a new hat in his room.”

  “Grandmother bought this for me,” Brody said, adding a defiant lift of his chin.

  “Well, stow it in your room. It won’t do you any good here. Wear the one your mother bought for you.”

  Brody slunk down in his chair.

  She hated to harp further, but she had to say something about that morning. “There is one more thing. I don’t want you hanging around Mr. Coulter.”

  “I wasn’t bothering him.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “How am I supposed to learn about horses if I can’t watch and ask questions?”

  Her father raised his brows and then his gaze crossed over to Riley.

  So Gabe had impressed Brody just by doing his job. And truth was she had been impressed, too. There was such gentleness as he managed the horse...in his voice, in his touch, in his gaze. And at the same time there was strength as he struggled to keep his seat and control the horse. She hadn’t been able to look away, for it was a thing of beauty—man against beast—the muscles in both bulging and rippling as they each tried to master the other.

  But Gabe had killed a man.

  “Brody, just do as I ask.” She was worn down from the tension she felt in the room. “When you are finished eating, I will take you to school. See that you are ready.”

  He let out a groan and jumped from his seat, dashing to his room.

  She rested her head in her hands. She was so tired of this!

  “He is giving you quite a run.” Her father’s tone held judgment.

  “He is constantly testing me.”

  “You were like him at that age—always pushing the boundaries I set.”

  She frowned. “So you’re saying Brody simply has the Rawlins need to control everything along with a heavy dose of stubbornness? I think I figured that part out.”

  His eyes twinkled. “He has something of his father battling inside him, too. As I recall Coulter was worse, especially the year his father died. Gabe had to be fourteen or fifteen.”

  How had she forgotten about that? “He would disappear into the woods for days searching for that cougar only to return empty-handed and angry and wanting to pick fights.”

  “It’s not an easy age for anybody, but you and Brody will get through it.”

  “I hope so.” She felt more reassured having talked it out with her father. Had she spoken to her mother, her mother would have only blamed Brody’s inadequacies on his blood. It made her wonder why she had been so set on trying to make things work for herself and Brody in Philadelphia. “In all the time I was gone, why didn’t you try to contact me?”

  Her father drummed his fingers on the pine table as though he were considering an answer.

  “I can understand at first,” she said. “You were trying to protect me. Coming back here...there would have been too many places, times I had shared with Gabe that I wouldn’t want to face. But later—after Brody was four or five. I never heard from you.”

  He concentrated on his hand rather than looking at her. “Your mother waited a long time to take you for a visit with her side of the family. I thought you’d both be gone for a visit and then come back, but then you wrote about the baby coming and wanting to stay there where you had all her family supporting you. That sounded smart to me. I didn’t know anything about babies. Later, I sent money so that you could all come home. Your mother replied that the three of you were settled and happy and wouldn’t be coming back—ever.” He looked into her eyes. “I couldn’t see the point in forcing you. Your happiness...that was important to me.”

  “When I didn’t hear from you, except for the money you sent every Christmas, I thought you hated me or were embarrassed about Brody.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “No.”

  “Oh, Father,” she said on a sigh. They had both wanted to see each other, but both had been too stubborn to say anything. Now it was too late. Much too late, to have those years back. “I’m glad you finally told me.”

  * * *

  The school sat at the crossroads on the outskirts of Santa Ysabel, a good three miles from the ranch. It was the same schoolhouse that she had gone to as a child. Brody was not happy about entering a new school at his age, but he needed to complete his education all the way to the eighth grade. He had one more year ahead of him. Besides, this would be a way for him to meet his neighbors. After enrolling him, Riley drove the buckboard back to the ranch alone.

  When she stopped the rig in the yard, Gabe emerged from the stable door. He wore the same cream-colored shirt he’d worn that first day at the stage station, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Suspenders held up his brown pants. His thick wavy hair was wet and combed back. When he saw that it was her, he tucked the rag in his back pocket and walked to the buckboard, took the reins from her hands and wrapped them around the brake lever.

  She stood at the edge of the wagon. “Where are the other men?”

  “Moving a bull.” He reached for her waist at the same time she reached for his shoulders. Even though she was prepared, a gasp emerged at the sudden sweep when he lifted her to the ground. He really did not appreciate his own strength. It left her slightly stunned each time. With the movement, his musky scent wafted over her. It was disconcerting to realize that despite the years, she remembered his scent...and found it stirring.

  His hands lingered long enough that she had to pull away herself. “I’ll need the rig again this afternoon to go after Brody.”

  “I’ll hav
e it ready.” He walked alongside the horse, smoothing his hand over the gelding’s flank until he took hold of the bridle.

  A simple thing—yet reassuring to the horse, she imagined. “Are you...all right?”

  He turned back to her with a question in his eyes.

  “I mean to say...after your fall this morning.”

  “A little stiff. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He searched her face, before turning away and leading the horse and rig to the stable door.

  “Well, that’s good,” she said, following him and trying to cover up for asking such a personal question. “You just started working here. I’d hate for you to get injured right off.” Her words came out stilted and awkward.

  He paused in the doorway. “Are you just going to stand there? You owe me an explanation.”

  She followed him into the stable, completely flummoxed. “I owe you?” She didn’t even try to keep the astonishment from her voice.

  He removed the tracings from the horse and wiped down the bit with a rag.

  The air was still and hot inside the building, and the sweet scent of fresh straw and hay enveloped her. “I owe you?” she repeated, tugging off her leather driving gloves. She slapped them down on a three-legged stool nearby. “You have that wrong, Mr. Coulter.”

  He raised his brows. “It has been a few years, but we do know each other...well. You could call me Gabe when we are alone.”

  No...oh, no... Rekindling that kind of familiarity with him would not be wise. She had loved him once...and he had used her to get back at her father. She had learned her lesson. Never would she be that gullible again. She raised her chin. “Just what are you doing working here? If I remember correctly you hated my father!”

  Gabe looked up from his task. “He happens to hold the deed to my ranch. I’m working it off. Figure it will take about five years. After that you will both be free and clear of me for good.”