The morning was opening like the wildflowers on the hillsides. After scarcely a half hour of daydreaming over the bills, Shelby couldn't bear another moment. Relieved of the pressure to keep up appearances, she happily went off to put on her riding boots and a short Eton jacket.
On the veranda, she discovered Manypenny sitting in a wicker chair. He hadn't taken breakfast with them and she'd nearly forgotten his existence. Today the old man was wearing a straw boater that looked quite comical on his large head. The instant he saw her, he unfolded his giant-sized frame and bowed to her.
"Good morning, Miss Matthews," he intoned.
"Good morning, Mr. Manypenny. What's that you're reading?"
He consulted the spine of the book in his right hand. "It is The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope, miss."
"How delightful! I am a great admirer of Trollope."
"Indeed? In that case you must speak to his lor—that is, Mr. Weston. This volume belongs to him. He brought an entire trunk filled solely with books."
"I see." Shelby backed away. "I'm off then. 'Bye!"
With a nod of farewell, Manypenny slowly lowered himself into the chair and resumed reading.
Shelby hurried to the barn, trying not to think about the trunk of books Geoff was hoarding in his room. How she hungered for new books, especially titles like The Eustace Diamonds! If only he were a guest at the ranch—not an interloper! How dare he criticize her manners, when he had the effrontery to hold her to the outcome of a silly poker game!
At the barn door Shelby was surprised to hear voices. Since they were shorthanded until the men returned from Billings, she expected that Marsh, Cal, and Lucius would be at the far reaches of their land by now, tending to the nearly completed fences.
"Howdy, Miz Shelby," Lucius greeted her from the darkened interior of the barn. "I saddled Gadabout an' put her in the corral to wait fer you, ma'am."
"I appreciate that—" She broke off at the sight of Geoffrey Weston.
He stepped out of the shadows wearing a knowing smile. "Finished with all those ledgers so soon? You are a wizard with numbers!"
Shelby flushed. She looked at the young cowboy. "Why aren't you working on those fences? We can't let the cattle roam free without brands until the fences are finished!"
"I know that, ma'am, but I started talkin' to Mr. Weston about saddles and I guess I lost track of the time. Did you know that he brought an English saddle all this way on the train? Lordy it's a pretty thing! But I convinced him to try a California saddle to go with that fine western horse, Charlie. Now we was just goin' out to tend to them fences you mentioned, ma'am." The boy sauntered toward her, bow-legged and grinning. "You wanna ride out with us?"
"No." Shelby pivoted and started toward the corral. "And Lucius, remember you have work to do!"
A few minutes later Shelby was urging her pinto pony into a gallop. They followed the bends in the river, riding away from the ranch buildings in the direction of the Carter Mountains. Then, turning east, Shelby and Gadabout found themselves in the emerald-green high meadows that were studded with coppices of budding trees and threaded with streams. The air was cooler; a breeze loosened Shelby's hair.
Quite a few of the ranch's cattle were grazing out here; some she actually recognized by their markings. Soon they'd wear the Sunshine brand: a circle with lines radiating out from the center like a drawing of the sun. In spite of everything, the thought of that brand cheered Shelby. No one could take away the love she felt for this ranch.
A little valley appeared, folded into the hillside. Wildflowers spattered color over the grass: yellow, blue, purple, white, and shades of red. Dismounting, Shelby sat down on the damp grass and soaked up the sun-washed view of their land that stretched up the Shoshone River valley. Gadabout seemed to sense her mood and meandered around, munching grass.
Shelby picked lupine, saxifrage, star asters, and blanket flowers. Lulled, she lay back for a moment. The sun was warm on her face, and the next thing she knew the light had shifted and she was chilly. Sitting up, it came to her that she'd been asleep and a considerable amount of time had passed. Her heart began to beat faster as she looked around for Gadabout. The pony wasn't in sight.
Clambering to her feet, Shelby tried not to panic. She called "Gadabout!" and ran around the area in circles until she was dizzy and hoarse. Then, spotting a denser thicket of cottonwoods over the next hillside, instinct told her to look there. When she reached the trees and went beyond them, she glimpsed the mudhole first and then Gadabout. Her heart clenched.
"Oh, girl!" Tears sprang to her eyes. "What have you done?"
The little filly was up to her withers in thick black mud. She gazed back at Shelby for a long minute, then whinnied and struggled to free herself. Now the mud oozed to her mane, touching the bare patch that had provided the makings of Shelby's false mustache.
Shelby was powerless. She had been so distracted at the ranch that she hadn't even brought her usual coiled rope—not that she could've pulled Gadabout out alone even with the rope.
How far away was the ranch? How long would it take her to run there for help? Gadabout was so small and feisty that Shelby feared she'd continue to struggle and drown in the mud before she could be rescued.
"Girl, you're going to have to stay here," she instructed the frightened pony. Openly weeping, Shelby exclaimed, "Stay quiet and wait—I'll bring help, but I don't know how long it'll take. I know you're scared, Gadabout, but I'll save you." She looked heavenward and sobbed, "Lord, please help us get out of this fix! If you save Gadabout, I promise to—"
Before Shelby could finish, the perfect loop of a lasso sailed over her head, seemed to hover above the mudhole, and finally encircled Gadabout's neck. Shelby was lightheaded with shock. Whirling around, she nearly collided with Charlie, the handsome buckskin stallion.
"Surprised?" Geoff looked down from Charlie's back. The rope's other end was knotted securely around the horn of his new California saddle.
Shelby's nemesis was rescuing her beloved Gadabout.
Chapter 5
"I've been waiting for the opportunity to save you from something," Geoff said as he drew the rope taut. "Will this good deed earn me your favor?"
"I—I—oh, just hurry!"
Geoff talked gently to the pony and to Charlie, too, who seemed to understand his job. The buckskin held his ground, even managing to back up a step or two, while Geoff drew the rope steadily in, hand over hand. Gadabout flailed at first, wild-eyed, but then she must've felt her hooves suck free of the mudhole's bottom. Slowly, she allowed the rope to pull her out of the bog.
Shelby was still crying. Her blouse was smeared with mud, her hair was a riot of curls, and her face mirrored an assortment of emotions Geoff hadn't glimpsed before.
A chink in her armor... and look what is revealed, he thought. Amazing. He watched as she stumbled while running to meet Gadabout. Heedless of the black goo dripping from the pinto, Shelby embraced her, then removed the lasso from her neck. Leading Gadabout by the reins, she carried the rope in her other hand and approached Geoff and Charlie.
"I suppose you think you're my knight in shining armor now," Shelby murmured as she handed him the rest of his rope.
He considered this for a moment, then swung down from the saddle and faced her. "Shelby, I probably shouldn't have chosen that particular moment to attempt to be droll."
A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead and shone directly on Geoff, bathing him in radiance. Shelby's tears had ceased, yet she continued to feel emotional, and wasn't sure why.
"I must thank you sincerely for saving my darling Gadabout," she said plainly. "This episode does not erase the other problems between us, but—"
"Will you soften your heart toward me just a little?" His voice was low and rich, his eyes warm. "I'm not going away, you know. You may wish it, but I will not."
It came to Shelby then that perhaps she did not wish it. How could her feelings be in such utter conflict? "I... am ash
amed that I could have been so foolish, that I could have lost half of our ranch. It seems like a nightmare—a nightmare that you could banish by telling me you won't hold me to that ridiculous bet!" Her temper was flaring again. "I don't actually dislike you—"
"You don't?" Geoff's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Would you be willing to put that in writing in the presence of witnesses?" Recklessly, he reached for her mud-smeared hand and held it lightly. "Shelby, I am fully aware of all your hints, subtle and otherwise, that I call off the bet. I don't know why you cannot comprehend the fact that the poker game is over and you lost. There's no going back now. I might see your point about my duty as a gentleman if I had instigated the game instead of you, and if I had suggested that outrageous bet, but it was all your doing. I don't see any evidence that would support your charge that I was the villain of the piece." Geoff paused. Her hands were getting warmer in his, and they trembled a little. "Do you?"
Shelby stared at the toes of her boots, then finally shook her head and mumbled, "No. What's worst of all is that I'm not even one of those women who believes that men should treat us differently, letting us win or giving in to our whims. I know that I'm a match for any man... and I should have been strong enough to accept the consequences of that dreadful poker game!" Tears dripped onto their clasped hands.
"Never mind." A sharp urge to draw her into his arms caused Geoff to lean away instead. "I've found your dramatics rather entertaining. I've never known a woman quite like you!"
The amusement in his voice made her laugh softly, then step back. "I'm not giving up completely, but I'll try to play straight with you from now on. If I get the ranch back, I'll win it fairly or I'll figure out a way to buy it, but I won't try to drive you away with any more horrid displays. I owe you that much for saving Gadabout."
The pinto nudged her mistress and tossed her mane. Reaching out to gently stroke the pony's neck, Geoff said, "I'll accept that for the moment. Shall we cry peace?" He thought he saw a blush creep into her lovely face. "This situation can hold more enjoyment than you know."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
A crazy wave of captivation hit Geoff then. Shelby's eyes were averted, and he found himself staring at her luscious mouth and wondering what she would do if he bent to taste it. He felt a hot clench of arousal at the thought. However, when he began to lean toward her, Gadabout pushed between their bodies, more aware of the situation than her mistress.
"Look here," he said to the pinto with mock severity, "I've just saved your life. I suggest you treat me accordingly!"
* * *
During the next few days, a real friendship began between Shelby and Geoff. True, there were other stirrings as well, but Geoff's breeding served him well. He was careful with her, aware that she was inexperienced with men and that he might frighten her off permanently if he touched her before she was ready.
In other respects, however, Shelby was strong and daring and self-assured. Geoff had known women rather like her in England, but most of them were outdoorsy girls with lots of brothers... and they resembled the horses they adored so.
Not Shelby, Geoff reflected as he watched her stride toward him one sunlit afternoon. How glorious was her cinnamon-hued hair, swirled up atop her head and fastened with tortoiseshell pins. And her eyes—candidly blue, tilting just a bit to follow the lines of her winged brows.... She was the most arresting woman he had ever seen, from the way her crisp white blouse tucked neatly over her breasts to her style of walking: purposeful, yet with a lovely, innate grace.
"Have you already finished making that stew?" he asked, leaning against the gate to the corral.
"Yes, it's all in the pot, simmering, and not a moment too soon." She shaded her eyes against the sun. "I do wish we were rich enough to have a cook. I've tried, and God knows Uncle Ben has shamed me into some accomplishment, but whenever I'm slaving over that stove on an afternoon like this—"
"I heard that there is an old grub-wagon cook in Cody who has gotten too old for the trail," Geoff said, watching her.
"Oh, we could never afford such a wild extravagance, especially since I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself...." Shelby's attention was wandering as she watched Marsh and Cal come out of the stable with a couple coils of rope, leading a frisky young stallion. "Wait a minute! What are you all doing loitering around here in the middle of the day? There's so much work to do! The roundup is next week!"
The two young cowboys stared at the dirt and scuffed the toes of their boots to and fro, leaving Geoff to explain. Gallantly, he straightened and said, "You've discovered us, I fear. I've been needing instruction in some of the skills particular to ranch life. The boys and I have been taking time off here and there to practice riding western style, and now—"
"I can't believe my ears! To flagrantly waste daylight hours in such a manner—"
"Ma'am," Cal interjected, "we could use an extra man around here, 'specially with Jimmy, Ben, an' Titus in Billings." He finished rolling a cigarette, licked the paper, and added, "Seems to me that this time spent workin' with Geoff on ropin' and ridin' western, is sorta an investment."
"Geoff?" Shelby was incredulous. When had this English tenderfoot won the regard of her weather-beaten, plain-spoken cowpunchers? "You call him Geoff?"
"Yup," said Marsh. He threw the extra lariat to Geoff, who caught it and walked over to confer with the two men.
"How long is the rope?" he asked Cal. "Is there a standard length?"
Suddenly, Shelby felt excluded. Before Cal could open his mouth, she replied, "Forty feet, right Cal? That's twenty-five feet for throwing, and fifteen feet of coil to hold onto." She wedged herself between the corral and Marsh, smiling genially, as if this had all been her idea. "That's what my own father taught me back in Deadwood, and he sure can rope. Sometimes Daddy used a sixty-foot lariat, because he could throw forty feet when the wind was with him." She draped an arm around Marsh's shoulders. "Didn't you rope an elk a few weeks back?"
"That was me," Cal said. He squinted at her suspiciously.
"Who's ready for some practice?" she cried. "You can never practice roping too much, I always say."
"Yup," Marsh agreed, and winked at Geoff.
They decided to let the Englishman start out. The group perched on the side of the corral and watched as Geoff mounted his buckskin and made a few attempts to rope the erratic, elusive stallion who seemed to be dancing away from him, just out of reach.
"It was much easier to find my mark with Gadabout," he called to Shelby in wry tones. "She didn't move—and Charlie was standing still as well. I find this business quite..." His voice trailed off; he couldn't bring himself to say the word "impossible."
"You hafta swing the rope so the loop'll open in the air," Cal yelled. "Tossin' yer rope before buildin' a loop don't catch the horse!"
Geoff continued to practice, even after an hour had passed and Cal and Marsh decided they'd better tend to the fences while the weather held. There were some questionable clouds stacking up to the north.
When he was alone with Shelby in the corral, Geoff confided, "I might be in over my head. Just adjusting to the different saddle and the terrain could have been enough to occupy me through the spring." Fingering the lariat, he smiled into her eyes. "I came here with the notion that I was exceptionally skilled because I not only rode and jumped with the best English equestrians, but I also broke horses. Little did I know..."
"It's all different?"
"Everything. Even the saddle—my English saddle is as different from this as it would be to ride bareback. These stirrups are much farther back, so everything I do with my legs is different—I'm nearly standing in the stirrups, and gripping with my thighs rather than my knees." Geoff shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "It feels like relearning all the instinctive movements that go into walking. I've been riding nearly that long."
"Well, you don't have to change. I mean, you have your own English saddle. You could use it, and simply ride for pleasure, and
not bother with all this ranch-hand nonsense."
He liked the way she switched back and forth between western speech patterns and those of a well-brought-up young woman. Very telling, he thought. '"Then why come—and stay? If I behave as I did in England, what's the point? Mind you, I don't know if I can bring myself to break horses the way the boys do, by snubbing them up so violently that they often somersault at the end of the rope, but... perhaps I'll adjust even to that idea." He tossed the lariat overhead, watching the loop widen perfectly in the air, and grinned. "I want to be useful; to enjoy a full life here at the Sunshine Ranch."
Shelby beamed back at him. "That wasn't bad! If you practice on a few posts first, you'll be roping that stallion by four o'clock!"
* * *
Not only was Geoff soon displaying considerable skill with the lariat, but it seemed that he could also shoot. Shelby thought it might be fun to show off a bit, after being so generous of spirit about Geoff's roping and riding, so later that afternoon she suggested that they take turns with her prized Winchester repeating rifle.
"It's just like the one Annie Oakley shoots in the Wild West Show," Shelby explained as they lined some bottles, and even a few small stones, on the garden fence.
"Have I told you that I saw them all perform in London in 1887?" He held the rifle and tried to get a sense of its weight and balance. "That afternoon probably led to my journey to Wyoming this spring."
"Really? How amazing! The world's smaller than you'd think." Distracted, she watched him prepare to shoot.
Slowly, Geoff lifted the rifle and looked down the barrel. His finger squeezed the trigger and the first bottle exploded.
Shelby cheered, trying to be a good sport until her own turn. Gazing at his profile as he aimed, she suddenly had butterflies in her stomach. His hands were elegant and strong as they curved around the stock and trigger of the rifle.
One by one the bottles shattered and fell, but Geoff left every other one standing. "For you," he told Shelby with the driest of smiles. Then, as her sense of sportsmanship faded quickly, he proceeded to pick off the stones as well, hitting even the smallest with the first shot.
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