by Jillian Hart
"Well, there's normally elk, too. Coyotes. Ooh, there goes an owl flying by right now. He's heading toward the barn roof."
"So I see." Dry, that humor and wry with warmth. "This is what you don't know. I have some fresh tracks. Human tracks."
Her knees knocked a little. Fear licked into her veins. "Human tracks? That can't be good. Are my horses safe?"
8
"Safe? I'd place good money on the bet that they aren't. Then again, the mares are nice and truly valuable, but Orville must be worth a mint. And I bet he protects them pretty good."
"He's quite well-bred and a fit feisty."
"I hadn't noticed that." He shook his head, a half-grin tugging up one side of his sculpted mouth. Lean and hard, tall and intimidating, he planted both hands on his hips. "The barn seems to be the point of interest, although there's a good view of your house from here."
"There is?"
"I'm guessing we've got two men who walked over from the main county road through those trees or the neighboring ranch. Best I can tell in this light, they were knees down in this grass for a good while."
"They?" She could not hold back her alarm.
"They would be hard to spot, even in the daylight hours. I'm guessing it's likely they were here for a while. And it's hard to say, but likely not their first time here."
"How can you tell all that from some tracks?"
"Because I'm good. Darn good. Now, I wish you would go back to the house and leave me to my business." He didn't holster his Peacemaker. "As far as I can figure, the shot that caught me in the arm had come from about here."
"I don't like the sound of that."
"I notice you're not heading for the house. It's a lost hope, isn't it? That's okay, I can accept it. I'm man enough for that." He braced his legs apart, pure manly steel.
Skye couldn't drag her gaze off him. The silvered moonlight polished the width of his shoulders, the wide breadth of his chest, the long lean line of him from tousled head to booted foot. He could have been carved from stone, as immovable as the mountains.
"I won't go back to the house without you," she said a little breathlessly, a little scared of what lurked out there in the night.
"I can't say that bed in your parent's room isn't the most comfortable place I've slept in years, but I shouldn't be in your house."
"Does this mean you're leaving tonight?"
"I'll let you know." He rubbed the back of his neck, unable to steal his gaze from the span of meadow and woods, of rolling hill and wild fields.
"Oh, look, they're coming back by," she breathed. "The mustangs."
Wonder filled her, as it did every time, and chased out everything else she felt, like her worries and fears, even her hopes, leaving only dream.
The distant blur grabbed her attention, and she and Brennan stood side by side in silence, watching without even breathing as the small band of horses wheeled into sight.
"Perfection," she breathed, and they were.
The magnificent animals cantered toward them across the silvery meadow with their heads up, legs moving like music, flying with the wind.
As they drew closer, the moonlight found them and revealed their sculpted mastery, their innate gracefulness and their velvet-glossed coats of black and white, red and bay, appy and patches. What beauty and wildness. Their untamed elegance took her breath away.
"Look at them run." Brennan's voice rumbled with appropriate awe, and that made him just about perfect in her high estimation. "They ought to be resting and relaxed. I wonder what's got them all worked up in a lather."
How did she answer? There was no possible way that she could find the right words and tell him that those glorious horses were all the dreams she had left.
As they galloped closer, she could see their handsome faces with dark eyes bright, nostrils flaring and ears pricked. Their delicate hooves were a blur as their long, powerful legs churned. Manes rippled in the wind, and moonlight caressed their sleek, smooth withers, backs and flanks.
The stallion led the herd, stunning in black, wheeling away from her and Brennan on the rise and racing toward the far eastern fields. The dozen mares with foals trailing or at their sides, rushed after him.
What wonder! Skye couldn’t draw air, turning to watch the horses speed away into the dark shadows, too amazed by their presence to breathe.
Tails ruffled in the wind as the moonlight lost them in the gully, and the last of the horses, little colts and fillies at their sides, raced by.
"That mare is lagging behind." Brennan watched the mustang and her foal falling farther back. "Something is wrong."
The mare's gait slowed even more, her sides heaving. She was too far behind and vulnerable to whatever had them running. Likely a predator intent on doing her and her little one harm.
She wasn't safe alone, separated from her herd and her stallion who would protect her. As the other mustangs disappeared fully in the dark and distance claimed them, the pinto slowed to a stop.
As if too defeated to keep going on, she hung her head, and watched them fearfully. Her nostrils flared, and she swiveled her ears behind her so she could listen for whatever had been dogging them.
"We have to help her." Skye's whole heart sang soft and as sweet as a Brahms melody in the crisp early spring morning.
"I'll do it." He ambled forward, hands out, palms up, moving as if with his heart, as if with his soul bared on his sleeve for the horse and all others to see.
When the pinto focused her attention on him, her gaze looked frightened but her head came up, not ready to bolt. As if she could feel the hope in the air, just a small tiny kernel of it, and it was true. Real.
In spite of the terror quaking through the mare, she fixed her gaze on Brennan and, as if frozen in time for just one moment, stood waiting with her heart bared. Fear prickled her velvety brown and white coat.
He took another measured, slow step deeper into the field, and panic lurched through Skye. She watched, breathless, as the mare, with her delicate foal at her side, whipped around and dashed away, but only going a few yards in the direction where her herd had disappeared against the backdrop of field, trees, moon and sky.
"How do we help her?" Skye hated how afraid for the house she sounded, how on display her feelings were for him to see, and too vulnerable.
What would he think if he knew she cared so deeply for all creatures, but horses especially? And she wished above all that she was stronger in every way, that she could follow her hopes and dreams for having more horses of her own. She wished she'd been able to stop Brennan from being wounded on her land.
And now, look, another horse was wounded, too. She padded after him into the shadowed hollow of the meadow, and her heart kicked in empathy when the mare scented the wind to also study her as she approached behind the man.
She could feel the mare's fear, how defenseless she felt. And had to admit that she was feeling the same. The man was disarming. He was also impressive and mysterious and intriguing. Not to mention physically drawing.
Think about the mare, Skye, she told herself, and not the man.
"Maybe you should stay here." Brennan's hand settled on her shoulder, big and blazing hot. "Two of us together will scare her."
She would argue, she intended to argue, but the blazing claim of his touch muddled her mind and left her speechless.
He had in him a great well of gentleness, she realized, and the knowledge moved her heart tenderly. He was a good man. Very good. And she blew out a sigh of what sounded like relief but felt like amazement. As she gazed up into his eyes as dark as the sky above him, her heart missed a beat and she did not feel innately alone.
Not with this man who shared a love for horses, too.
"Don't you worry. I've got a way with horses." His butter-rum baritone rolled through her, rough and gravelly and deep. "Just stay right here and do ask I ask, please."
"What if you need help? She's injured."
"I am a horseman, you know." One corner
of his mouth tugged upward in a spare, bemused grin. He turned his back and the waving grasses beckoned him into the field, where the mustang stood trembling in the shadows of the draw, head up, ears swiveled and poised to bolt.
He kept his attention on the pinto, the majestic animal poised between trusting and flying. The scant starlight faintly dusted her brown and white coat, gleaming like rare velvet. The gentle high mountain breeze tousled her silken mane and tail.
The entire world faded to gray, then to nothing at all, as he took those final steps closer to the mustang and foal. The little colt took one look at him and darted safely behind his mother.
"Don't be afraid, pretty mare." Brennan let his troubles quiet, forcing every worry and upset to drain right out of him until the only thing he could feel was the beat of his own heart and the scope of it.
The mare lifted her head upward to scent him on the wind. Her nostrils dilated, evaluating him as he moved slowly towards her.
Her gentle brown eyes glinted in the meager moonlight, and Brennan read her body language. Ready to run, wanting help. His heart warmed with love for her.
"You're a beautiful horse, girl." Brennan held out his hand for her to scent.
She leaped back, terror beating through her. This close, he could plainly see the glisten of blood on her white shoulder. She was hurt, and he didn't have to guess how. He had the same wound weakening him so that he felt wobbly, as if ready to faint, but he pushed through it, gritted his teeth and thought only of the mare.
"Looks like you've got a good colt there." He kept his voice calm and warm, and when he settled his hand on the mare's neck, she didn't dash, rear or bite.
Her skin flickered, afraid of human contact. She felt satin-soft, and he could feel the heat of her flesh and aliveness, her life. As he looked into the mustang's chocolate-brown eyes, he could feel her quiver of fear.
"It's all right, girl, I'll help you out." He spoke the words with tenderness, so the mare could hear it.
She relaxed, and he dared to glance over his shoulder to check on Skye. Would she heed his warning or disrespect his request?
She stood on a ridge where he'd left her. In the platinum glow of moon and stars, she looked out of place in the meadow with the rugged peaks of the mountains in the distant background. She was a willowy, slip of an East Coast woman.
Even from a reasonable distance, she could pass for the upperclass heiress that she was. Talk about being out of place, out of her environment. He ached a bit, worrying why that was.
"C'mon, pretty mustang. This looks like you got yourself a winged pretty good. I know how that hurts."
The mare hopped back away from him, white-rimmed eyes filled with agony. Her upper leg gave a wobble, but she ignored the pain and the blood attempting to congeal and limped back into the darkest reaches of the field.
It looked as if he wasn't going anywhere. It was gonna be a long night, he thought, with regret, and gritted his teeth against the pain.
No matter what happened, he was committed to making sure the mare and foal would be okay on his watch. He patted his holstered gun with reassurance. There wasn't anything he could not handle.
* * *
Clouds had rolled in about an hour ago, leaving this perfect piece of Wyoming Territory in inky blackness. Brennan stared up at the cloud cover, wishing he had a little starlight to see by.
He missed having the stars overhead to tell time by, so he had no accurate way to know the hour, but he suspected that the graying light that signaled dawn was not far away.
In the field ahead of him, skirting the acres of woods, the pinto mare whooshed out a breath in her sleep, with her foal curled up in the grasses beside her. He watched a bat sweep across the sky like a wraith and fought the pain ready to take him down.
Still, it was nice to have a good job again, one he felt fine about. His heavy eyelids fell shut and he fought them open. The bullet wound in his arm throbbed hard enough to keep sleep at bay, but, heck, he was tired, and he was committed to protecting Skye's dreams.
The human tracks troubled him. They'd been as plain as day, obvious even in the dark. Likely Judson and friends. The fool hadn't even bothered to hide his tracks, thinking it would never matter.
Well, it did now.
It wasn't long before a sheet of gray light eked above the eastern horizon. He nodded to the stallion whose shadow came into view above the next rise.
Not too far away, the mustang lifted his head to trumpet, keeping watch once again over the straggler he did not know how to help.
And I can't get close to help her. Yet, he thought, giving the stallion a nod. To make his intentions clear, he backed up a few steps and gritted his teeth against the pain. The threat of predators was less as dawn neared, and so he retreated into the fenced corral, the wild grasses and flowers soft beneath his boots.
When he looked up, the mare had pushed to her feet and hobbled in the stallion's direction. A bit of restful sleep had helped, and that graze was bad enough that it would not heal on its own.
He watched over the horses until the rise and fall of the landscape hid them.
The quick and light pad of footsteps drummed inside the barn, echoing in the rafters above the hayloft. He couldn't hide his grin.
Skye, he thought, recognizing the lightening in his heart, the same way dawn touched the horizon and eased the dark.
The latch lifted and the hinges whispered as the door swung open. The first touches of soft light swept over her. The calico dress swished and swirled around her slender form.
"There you are!" Relief chased the dear crinkles of worry from her sweet face. "I didn't see you where I left you in the field, so I was coming to find you, and here you are, all penned up in my corral."
"Taking a short cut through the barn, but I didn't get there yet. Are you always going to be in my way?"
"Maybe. In fact, it's likely." The quip, her good humor, warmed her gaze to a stunning gold. "Well, you're still standing. That's a good sign. How are you feeling?"
"Not bad, considering." He wished he could stretch out, rest and slip off to sleep, but that horse in need bothered him and the human tracks troubled him. More than he dared to think about.
"Not bad?" She tilted her head to one side, gazing up at him through long, curled lashes.
Hard to ignore that adorableness. Harder not to be affected by it. "Any chance you've got coffee? Coffee would help."
"If it would make you better, than you can have all the coffee. Every bean." She waltzed ahead of him in the dawn, unaware of what she'd done.
She'd captured his heart even more.
"You look like you're wobbling even worse," she commented, leading the way back into the barn. "Why don't you come to the house? I've got a pot perking on the stove."
"I won't say no to that, but you're wrong. I'm not wobbling at all. I'm too tough to show any weakness. It's bad for my reputation."
That made her laugh softly as she swept along at his side. "I saw you watching over the horses."
"You did? I was just making sure no wolf or cougar decided to come too close."
"I realized that. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"What secret?"
"That you're a good man down beneath all that tough layer of rugged cowboy. And I happen to like that. Aren't you coming inside?"
"I'd rather stay out on the porch, if you don't mind."
"Sit down there if you want to. It's coolish out here, but it helps knowing that warm weather is on the way." She hopped up the porch steps alone, swirling around to take a few steps backward as she spoke. "Make yourself as comfortable as you can. I'll be right back with your coffee."
"Are you always this agreeable? And cheerful this early in the morning?"
"Yes, and I can't be stopped."
Oh, he wouldn't begin to attempt to steal her brightness, her light. He waited until the front door snapped shut before he let the weakness in him show. His knees wobbled. He took one stumbling step an
d plopped down on the bottom step.
From there, he had a good view of both the field he'd been shot on alongside the driveway and, to his left, the expansive landscape where the wounded mustang and colt had disappeared with the stallion.
Don't even think it, Mosley, he told himself. I'm a fool to even consider it.
The door swung open and out she ventured, stepping into the growing radiance of that first sepia-gold light. She set down a bowl full of supplies and the steaming coffee mug on the step next to his elbow.
"I figured a tough man like you would need some sweetening up." Dear as could be, she plunked down beside him. "So I gave you lots of sugar and milk. Let's see if it makes you any less ruggedly tough."
"I don't do sweet." He wasn't sure if he was teasing her or not. It had been a long time once he'd let his guard down with anyone.
But if he did, he wanted it to be with her.
9
He had to hold his heart hard in place so it wouldn't weaken or soften at all. She didn't say a word as she unbuttoned his shirt and carefully folded back the fabric off his left shoulder and upper arm.
Nope, I'm not gonna be affected by her at all.
She smelled of strawberries, sweet and ripe, as she bent close. Gossamer wisps from the soft curls framing her face caught on his whiskered jaw, and sharp desire charged through his entire body. So much for his resolve, he thought, and his self-control.
He clenched his jaw and gazed out at the shadowed field, trying to master his physical reaction.
"Oh, this looks better than I expected. I'm shocked." She unrolled the last of the bandage and uncapped a small tin of alcohol. "The truth is the doc is a good one. His stitches are holding up to your abuse just fine. Lucky for you."
It stung when that dab of alcohol hit his stitches, and he grimaced, grateful for the care she was giving him. "I am lucky, and I'm glad for you. You could have left me in the field. Some folks would have."
"Well, I've taken a liking to you. I can't say why. I'm sure it's a bad decision." She dabbed his wound with honey.