“Son of a bitch!” one of the cowboys exclaimed, concern etching his strong words.
Man and horse rolled in the flying dirt, then both were up again. Rafe, showing no sign of anger, only grim determination, swung back into the saddle, his gloved hand having retained the reins.
“That’s it!” the same cowboy called, once again enjoying the spectacle.
Shannon’s heart thudded. She’d thought...with that last spill...
Rafe forced the horse to take several steps forward, then he slipped his foot from the left stirrup and swung his other leg over the saddle. In one smooth motion he slid to the ground, his attitude serving notice to the horse that he, not the horse, was going to be the one to decide when he got off.
Rafe started walking back across the corral, and Shannon saw the grimace he gave as he rubbed the side of his hip, a grimace that turned into a smile when he spotted his dog waiting impatiently for him outside the fence.
Shannon couldn’t pull her gaze away from Rafe, yet she was aware that the cowboys had seen her—of their elbows digging into one another’s sides, of the young cowboy with the baby face and the pale blue eyes start to swagger over. But before he could say anything Rafe barked an order for everyone to get back to work, which caused the men to scatter.
Rafe ruffled the hair on Shep’s head before he spoke to her. “You brought him here?” he asked.
Shannon’s throat felt tight with an unidentifiable emotion. She’d been to a number of rodeos, but they seemed tame in comparison to the event she’d just witnessed.
“No, he brought me here, actually. That—” she swallowed and let herself down from the fence “—that was...interesting just now.”
Rafe glanced back across the corral to the now placid horse a cowboy was unsaddling. “He’s a particularly ornery case. We’ve been working with him for the past three winters, and he still won’t take to having a man on his back.”
“I heard someone say something about sending him to a rodeo?”
“I’d hoped we could coax him around, but it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”
“A trader comes to the ranch?” Shannon prompted. She was curious, but her principal motivation was maintaining a safe topic of conversation until she could get away.
“Are you really interested?” he challenged, as if somehow he’d divined her thoughts.
Shannon lifted her chin. “Extremely,” she claimed.
Rafe’s eyes glinted as he shifted position, easing his hip. “After the spring and fall roundups a trader makes the rounds to see if anyone has any spare horses they want to sell—the ones that just aren’t going to work out for ranch work, the misfits. A cowboy has to be able to trust his mount. If he can’t, if the horse is too eccentric or too irascible to risk riding in the mountains, you have to get rid of him. If he bucks good enough, he’ll end up in a rodeo. Makes the crowd happy.”
“You’ve worked with this horse for three years?” Shannon asked, her gaze fixed on the animal.
“Three winters and springs. They run free in summer.” He motioned to pens around the central corral where cowboys were working with other horses. “When they’re young colts, we get ’em used to a halter.”
“How do you do that?”
“By putting it on and letting them wear it awhile.”
“What’s next?”
“We get ’em used to having a blanket on their back, then a saddle, then a man.”
“It’s that easy?”
He smiled slowly. “It usually takes a little convincing.”
“And sometimes they don’t convince?”
“Most times they do. When they’re two years old, they start coming on roundups with us, just to watch the other horses and see what’s expected. They have to learn their job just like everybody else. How to take orders, how to stay with the remuda—that’s the extra mounts we bring along—how to herd cattle. Then we season ’em some more. Get ’em used to being ridden. After that we start working the moves, try ’em out separating calves from their mamas. See if they have good cow sense.”
“How long before they go on their first real roundup?”
“When they're four, and that’s only as substitutes for more experienced horses that go lame. Even then they mostly drive cattle in open terrain. It takes about two years after that before they’re really ready.”
“I never realized,” Shannon murmured.
“It takes a long time to train a good horse. Mistreat him when he’s young, and he’ll turn on you first chance he gets when he’s older.”
“Is that what happened to the one you were on?” Shannon asked.
“Not on the Parker Ranch. If a cowboy treats a horse bad, I don’t care who he is, he’s outta here. No, that horse just doesn’t like people riding him. Happens sometimes.”
Shannon tilted her head. “You mean...he’s completely untrainable?”
“Oh, we could eventually get him turned round, but he’d never be any good. Couldn’t trust him.”
“So you’re going to sell him,” she said.
“Probably, unless there’s some kind of miracle transformation, which I doubt”
Shannon pulled her gaze away from the horse. “Mae... Mae said to ask you about a horse to ride.”
“For you? You ride?”
“Is it so surprising?”
“No.”
He continued to look at her, and Shannon rocked back and forth on her heels. It always came to this with the two of them: horrible long-drawn-out silences. Either that or quicksilver bursts of passion— She stopped herself abruptly. She would not continue with that line of thought. She was already having enough trouble trying to act normally.
She cleared her throat. “So? What about it? Will you choose a horse for me to ride?”
“Now?” he asked.
Shannon could hear activity taking place all around her. “Of course not now,” she said. “Later on...tomorrow or the next day. Whenever you have a chance.”
Once again his smile spread slowly, making his handsome features even more attractive. Wasn’t that the way of it? Shannon grumbled to herself. Here he was—sweaty, with dirt streaking his clothing and skin from his contest with the horse—and all he had to do was smile!
“Just how experienced are you?” he asked, and the softly spoken words reverberated up Shannon’s spine.
She looked at him, her eyes wide. Did he mean what she thought he meant?
A wicked light danced in his dark eyes. “On a horse,” he explained.
If she’d blushed in his presence before, it was nothing to what she did now. Even the tips of her ears must be red.
Rafe pretended not to notice, which somehow made matters worse.
“I...I...” Shannon began.
“Sure, I’ll pick out a horse for you,” he said agreeably. “The Parker Ranch is known for its good horses. We have some so gentle a baby can ride them—and do! Our kids learn to ride young.”
“I’m further along than that,” Shannon retorted.
She could still feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. This was ridiculous. Where was her backbone? Where was her sophistication? She’d never blushed so often or to such a degree in her life. And there had been plenty of opportunities when she could have. Not all politicians were circumspect when away from a microphone or a camera. So why blush now? What was it about Rafe Parker that made him so different? The answer tried to assert itself, but Shannon slammed an imaginary door shut before truth could do more than clear its throat.
“Glad to hear it,” Rafe drawled, regaining her attention. “I don’t have time right now to teach a tenderfoot to ride.”
“I’m not a tenderfoot.”
His gaze dropped to her insubstantial sandals, then slowly worked back up her gray slacks and striped silk blouse to her face. “Sure look like one to me.”
Shannon took refuge in anger. “I’ve ridden horses for years, Mr. Parker. And for your information, I’m very good at it!”
“Would you like to take a turn on that ol’ horse we were just talking about? Seeing as you’re so good, maybe you could teach the rest of us a thing or two, including him!”
“Do you think your aunt would approve?” Shannon countered sweetly.
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.”
Shannon would’ve loved to call his bluff. But it was a safe bet that even at her prime she wasn’t a good enough rider to cling to the back of that horse. Still, how she’d have liked to wipe that mocking smile off Rafe’s face. To march over to the dun-colored horse, instruct that it be resaddled, then ride the beast until it submitted. That’d show him! But it wasn’t within the confines of reality. She could just as easily flap her arms and fly—
Fly. The word reminded her of James, her father and the others, and her face suddenly lost its animation. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t think so. I’ll pass this time.”
He didn’t celebrate his victory. Instead, her easy capitulation seemed to puzzle him. His gaze swept over her, trying to fathom the cause.
Shannon remembered Shep and looked around for him. The dog was sniffing a post a short distance away. “Shep, come on, boy. We have to go back,” she called.
The dog ignored her, continuing to sniff.
“Shep!” Rafe said.
The dog’s head jerked up and he hurried over to them, his tail wagging an apology.
“Go with Shannon,” Rafe instructed. “Go back to the house.”
Shep’s ears fell, an indication that he didn’t want to leave. Yet when Shannon started to walk away, he was close on her heels, needing only one small motion of Rafe’s hand to make him obey.
Shannon found an easier way out of the pens than going over the fences. She walked along an alleyway to freedom.
When once again she and Shep were on the path, she glanced down at the dog and saw that he looked just as dejected as she felt. Her leg was aching from the long walk, her spirit buffeted by another run-in with Rafe. Why had she stayed to talk with the man? She hadn’t gone to the pens with that end in mind, that was for sure. Requesting a horse was an idea that had occurred to her on the spur of the moment.
“Tenderfoot,” she grumbled to herself. He thought she was a tenderfoot. The idea irked her almost as much as he did. Just because she hadn’t grown up on a big ranch, just because she’d been born in the city. Not to mention the fact that she’d grown up a product of the suburbs. What if Rafe had been born in a city? Would he be the same person? Would he have that same lord-of-all-he-surveyed manner?
Shannon tried to imagine what Rafe would look like dressed in formal wear—black tie, pristine white shirt, cummerbund, perfectly fitted jacket and pants—and her mind reeled at the image. Yes, he’d look wonderful. Yes, he’d be just as arrogant, just as maddening, just as handsome. Possibly even more so. Every woman she knew would be clamoring to be introduced to him. She’d wear herself out telling people his name.
Shannon limped over to one of the long low ranch buildings, easing herself down onto the steps.
Shep flopped at her feet and looked up at her.
“Your human is a wretch,” she told him, then had to laugh when the dog shook his head as if in disagreement. “Leave it to you guys to stick together!”
~*~
Rafe surveyed the activity taking place around him. Gene was in a pen working with one of the younger colts; Cecil had led another horse into the corral and, after saddling him, started to put him through his paces, teaching him to make quick turns at the slightest indication from the reins; J.J. was working with another colt in another pen, helping him adjust to the thin steel bar he’d just discovered in his mouth—a preparation for the introduction of a bit; and Rio...Rafe didn’t know where Rio had disappeared to. He’d been there a few minutes before hoping to talk to Shannon, until Rafe had stopped him.
That last bothered Rafe. Why had he felt such an urgent need to stop the young cowboy? What difference would it have made if Rio talked to Shannon? Because of Jodie? Because, as her cousin, he couldn’t stand idly by and watch the man she thought she was in love with spend time with another woman? Or was it something more? Something he’d rather avoid putting a name to?
He moved, and his bruised hip set up a protest. Damn horse, he swore lightly.
“Hey, Rafe!” Cecil called from inside the corral. “Take a look here. This one’s gonna make ten of that ol’ dun. He’s pickin’ it up faster than I can teach!”
Rafe turned to inspect the three-year-old sorrel as Cecil put him through some intricate maneuvers. He was a compact little horse with an intelligent head, and he took enthusiastically to being wheeled in sharp circles and asked to change directions.
“See what I mean?” Cecil said, grinning.
“He always did catch on quick.” Rafe remembered the little sorrel from the time he’d first seen him in the roundup after his birth. Just as Dub did, Rafe knew all the horses that belonged on the Parker Ranch by variation of color or physique. The sorrel’s mother had borne a string of good horses. It wasn’t any wonder she’d given them another.
As Rafe continued to watch the horse work, the questions that had bedeviled him began to fade, to the point where he could pretend they were no longer there.
~*~
Shannon saw Wesley, then Gwen, creep around the side of the barn, pause, then tiptoe to an open door, where they leaned forward and peered inside. After a moment, both pulled back and snickered, hands covering their mouths. Then they leaned forward again and this time stayed there.
Their behavior was so furtive—as if they knew they would get into trouble if anyone caught them doing what they were doing—that Shannon pushed herself to her feet and went over to check on them. She called Shep to follow her.
The children were so intent on what they were watching that they didn’t notice her approach. Shannon silently assumed a position beside them and leaned forward until she, too, could see inside.
After being in bright sunshine, she found it took several seconds for her vision to adjust to the barn’s gloomy interior. And then she saw the object of the children’s interest—the entwined legs of two people lying in the straw of the far stall. One was male, booted and wearing jeans, the other female, barelegged and barefoot.
Shannon glanced down at the absorbed children and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. She felt their bodies each give a start. Then their heads jerked up to see who had caught them.
Shannon put a finger to her lips and motioned them away from the door. Their faces reflected consternation and guilt as they followed her back around the side of the bam.
“We weren’t doin’ anythin’ wrong,” Wesley protested, putting up a brave front.
“Just watchin’ Jodie,” Gwen said.
“What would your mother say if she saw you?” Shannon asked, careful to keep censure from her tone.
“She wouldn’t like it,” Gwen answered honestly.
“Are you gonna tell her?” Wesley cut to the heart of the matter.
Shannon shook her head. “No, not if you stop.”
“All they’re doin’ is kissin’ and stuff,” Wesley said.
“They look silly.” Gwen giggled.
“Still,” Shannon said, “it’s not nice to watch people when they don’t know they’re being watched.”
“That’s what Mama says,” Gwen admitted after controlling her giggles.
Shannon looked down into Wesley’s still-worried face. “I said I won’t tell, and I won’t. Now, why don’t you two run back home and play around your house, okay?”
“Okay,” Gwen agreed, and made a grab for her brother’s arm.
“Aunt Mae told Jodie to stay away from Rio,” Wesley said, resisting his sister’s efforts to pull him away.
“That was Rio?” Shannon asked.
Wesley nodded.
“Come on, Wes. I’m thirsty. I wanna drink of water.” Gwen tugged on her brother’s arm again, and this time Wesley went with her.
Shannon watched the children scamper away, then sighed. She didn’t know what her next move should be. She was amazed at Jodie’s poor judgment. It was the middle of the afternoon, a time when anyone could walk into the barn. Whoever did would see them right away.
Shannon made a quick decision to be that person. It might be embarrassing for everyone involved, but far better if it was her, instead of Mae or Rafe.
Straightening her shoulders, she walked back around the corner of the barn to the door—and found that she was already too late. Rafe stood just inside the barn, struck to stillness by the sight that greeted him.
Jodie sat on the scattered straw, her hand on the thigh of the young cowboy Shannon had seen twice before—the one with the pale blue eyes, the baby face and the reckless air. The girl’s hair was tousled, bits of straw sticking out of it, and her blouse was loosened from her skirt and falling off one shoulder. Rio’s shirt hung open to the waist, his belt buckle undone. They were laughing at Shep, who was growling and pulling on the bottom of Rio’s pant leg.
“Stop it, Shep!” Jodie scolded, yet she was smiling as if she found the situation humorous. She waved her free hand in front of the dog’s nose, trying to make him stop. It was obvious the pair didn’t realize they were being observed.
Rio tried to wrest his leg away, jerking it this way and that. “Yeah, stop it you ol’ hound! Go find somebody else to pick on ’fore you get into trouble.”
Shep continued to growl. The sound came from low in his throat.
“Stop it! Hey! That’s my leg you’re gnawin’ on now! Stop it!” Rio exclaimed after the dog adjusted his grip. “That hurts!”
“Shep!” Jodie’s tone lost its humor as the situation changed. She tried to catch hold of the dog’s collar, but Shep wouldn’t let her touch him.
Shannon sensed the anger building in Rafe. And when Rio reared back with his free foot to kick the dog off him—making the dog yip in pain—Rafe suddenly broke his silence.
West Texas Match (The West Texans Series #1) Page 11