And scared about what was to come. Her stepmother had not spoken to her of such things, and she and Jamie had never really talked about the act of birthing the baby.
“You all right?” The cowboy’s calm, placid tone didn’t change much. Except yesterday, when he’d been shouting from outside.
His calm demeanor was a relief against her raging emotions. He didn’t look at her.
Without the blanket covering her, she shivered.
“Is it colder?” she asked. The corners of the room seemed more shadowed, though she could hear the fire crackling in the stove. Was it getting on to nighttime? “How long did I sleep?”
“Coupla hours,” he answered. “It’s not yet suppertime. It is colder. The blizzard’s blowing something fierce.”
She shuddered again, this time from imagining him stuck out in it. How quickly did one freeze to death?
Finally he turned and faced her. “I’ve been working on something for ya.”
His words piqued her curiosity, but her history with Jamie made her wary. Her husband had never given a gift without an expectation.
“C’mere.”
She was completely at the cowboy’s mercy. If he wanted to take advantage of her, she had only the Derringer to stop him and she’d put it away in a drawer yesterday. But something inside told her he wouldn’t. She wanted to trust him, but she couldn’t.
Reluctantly, she joined him at the table, one small part of her wondering what he was offering her. Beneath the table the white dog shifted in its sleep.
She stood next to the table, looked down on...a map?
It was, and intricately done. She leaned over it, her fingers just brushing the paper’s edge. She didn’t dare touch it.
There were mountains depicted, a forest on one side of a valley and a large body of water on the other. And most importantly, there were houses. Each with a name written beneath the depiction of the home in a masculine scrawl.
“You drew this?”
He shrugged. “Wanted you to be able to find help if something happened to me.”
It was more than a piece of paper. He was giving her freedom.
If he died, like Jamie had, she wouldn’t be trapped here.
Her eyes welled with tears even as he settled his finger on the center of the map. “This is where we are now, my pa’s line shack.”
She sniffled, ran a quick fingertip beneath her eyes to clear the tears.
He pretended not to notice.
She looked down at his long, calloused finger just beneath a cabin nestled near the bottom of one mountain.
“Any direction you take, there are neighbors that can help you. This is the family homestead.”
He pointed to a group of houses near the bottom of another mountain, several streams bisected the area between this cabin and that.
Her lips moved unconsciously as she puzzled out the names.
“Sorry if my writing is hard to read. It’s been a long time since I was in the schoolroom.”
Her eyes lowered. “There are more neighbors than I thought.” It was a comfort, if a small one. “I’m not sure I... Well, what if I get my directions crossed?”
He didn’t belittle her, didn’t sneer. He only edged slightly closer, his shoulder brushing her arm. His long, tapered finger tapped a spot on the map, but she was distracted by his clean smell, like the forest outside.
“If you think you’re lost, the most important thing is not to panic. Take stock of where you are, what landmarks you can see.”
She found herself watching his profile. This close, she could make out the individual freckles that covered his cheeks and nose, see the pale blond eyelashes that framed his blue eyes.
Then his concentration shifted, and those blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze.
Too close.
She was afraid he could see too much. She lowered her eyes to the map again, heat again searing her face.
He cleared his throat and tapped the map again with his long, almost elegant finger. “If you stood right here in this meadow and turned a circle, you’d be able to see this peak.” His finger slid across the map to a mountain. “You’d hear this creek gurgling.” Now his finger moved to a snaking line. “And you’d see this tree.” The last place his digit pointed was a tall tree that appeared to have been hit by lightning. “So you’d know where you are and roughly which direction you want to go.”
He stepped back from the table, giving her room enough to breathe. She still couldn’t believe he’d done this for her.
It made her uncomfortable knowing all the trouble she’d caused just by her presence here. He’d already promised to help her get to his family’s place and then to town. And now for him to do this.
It was more than she could repay. She didn’t even know where to begin.
“I came up here with two horses. Until we get you back to my pa and ma, I won’t leave you without one of them.”
Which was all well and good, except... “I don’t know how to ride. I’ve never ridden alone.”
* * *
Davy rubbed his palm over the day’s scruff on his jaw. He was shaken from her nearness and the scent of warm, sleep-rumpled woman. Keeping his back to her, he went to the window.
She couldn’t ride. Of course she couldn’t. Hadn’t she admitted to being a city girl?
A glance at the white wall of snow outside the window meant there wouldn’t be any real teaching today, but...
“You got a coat?” he asked.
She looked up from the table, a flash of curiosity crossing her expressive features before she carefully blanked them. What made her so reluctant to open up to him? So nervous?
“All I have is my shawl.”
It bothered him that her husband had left her in a bad situation with nothing. No supplies, not even a coat! She’d said that they had been in route to somewhere else before he’d died, but what kind of people traveled with no belongings? Someone who’d had to sell everything and move on...
He rifled through his saddlebags that were tucked in the back corner of the cabin, and came up with a sweater Breanna had knitted two Christmases ago. It was as ugly as all get-out but warm, made from nubby local wool.
“Here. You can borrow this.”
She looked at him askance, as if he were offering her a snake instead of an item of clothing. But she finally, reluctantly took it from him. He waited by the door as she pulled it over her head and then wrapped herself in her shawl, covering her hair and ears.
She’d woken pink-cheeked, eyes sleepy and for once with the tense lines of strain around her mouth relaxed. For a few minutes only.
She joined him, pulling on a pair of mittens, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “Isn’t it dangerous to go out?”
“Keep a hand on the cabin wall. We’re just going around back to the lean-to. If you get disoriented, I’ll be right here beside you.”
Breanna’s dog slipped out when he opened the door. Hopefully it would stick close, do its business and come back.
He held the door for Rose and they went out into the icy blizzard. She gasped at his shoulder as the cold hit her full force. Maybe this had been a bad idea.
But she stuck close behind him as they made their way slowly, boots slogging, through the snow drifted up next to the cabin.
She stumbled once, and he righted her with a hand beneath her elbow. She seemed so small beneath his hand that his arm came around her shoulders before he even realized what he was doing. But she didn’t reprimand him, so he left his arm there.
Finally they reached the lean-to door. It swung open wildly in his grasp, and he lost his footing, nearly bringing them both to the ground.
The horses whickered, tossing their heads and attempting to turn in the tight space.
&nbs
p; Rose backed against the wall as he wrestled the door closed.
Finally it latched, leaving them in the dark, the quiet almost eerie after the noise of the howling storm. Smells of hay, horses and sweet oats filled the enclosed space.
He could hear one of the horses’ hooves stomp against the packed straw, a soft blow. And Rose’s agitated panting.
“I’m lighting a lamp,” he said quietly, attempting to instill in her his calm. “It would’ve blown out in that wind.”
His match scraped against the side of the lean-to and then lit with an audible hiss and a stinging burst of sulfur that dissipated quickly. He touched the pinpoint of light to the lamp’s wick, and it lit with a pop.
The lean-to was almost as large as the cabin, easily room enough for the horses. When he and his brothers had built the cabin this summer they hadn’t plugged all the cracks on this side, but the building served its purpose of keeping out the elements.
The light illuminated Rose, who stood with her back against the outer wall, one hand protectively over her stomach. The wind had blown her hair out of its braid, and dark curls wisped around her face. Her eyes were dark and frightened, and he could’ve kicked himself for not explaining better before they’d left the house.
“It’s all right.” He hung the lantern on a peg and moved closer to her, stepping slowly like he would for a timid, green broke horse.
“I thought if you ever needed to get off this mountain and I wasn’t around, you’d better be familiar with the horses.”
She was staring at the nearest rump, her eyes wide and unblinking.
“Rose.” It was the first time he’d said her name. She hadn’t given him permission. But his soft use of it shocked her out of her frozen state. She blinked and her eyes focused on him.
“Will it be like that all winter?”
She was asking about the storm. He shook his head, letting his hand rest on the horse’s rump. “No. It will storm off and on, but there will be mild days. We’ve just got to wait it out.”
Her eyes followed his arm to where his hand rested on the horse. “It’s so big.”
She was afraid of everything. What kind of life must she have lived?
“These two are old friends. I’ve had Boaz since I was fifteen.”
She didn’t look comforted and he turned to the animal, though he was still close at her elbow. He ran his palm along the animal’s back, and the horse turned its head to look back at him.
“We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we, old fellow?”
Rose’s breaths had settled into a more normal rhythm, but he could still feel her tension without looking at her.
“We’ve driven cattle to market, ridden in cowboy exhibitions, worked the fields, and there was even the one time I’d broken my arm and you brought me home...”
The horse nickered, as if agreeing with all Davy’s statements.
After all of his chatter, Rose finally moved, standing slightly behind Davy’s elbow. He was terribly aware of their closeness, her nearness in the small space.
“What does that noise mean?”
Davy kept his face toward the horse, not wanting to spook the woman. “He’s talking to me, sorta. He’s using his whole body, if you’re paying attention. See his ears?”
She edged closer to the horse, coming up behind him. He could smell something like flowers, something feminine, over the barn smells.
Davy’s breath caught in his chest but he kept talking. “If his ears are forward like that it means he’s listening to us, being attentive. If they’re flat back against his head, it means he’s scared or upset. That’s when you know to tread carefully.”
She reached out from behind his shoulder, pulling her hand back at the last moment, as if she was afraid to touch the animal.
Davy’s face went hot, but he reached out and took her small, cool hand in his, placing it flat against the horse’s side. The animal exhaled, and their joined hands rose in tandem.
And he kept babbling. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to offer her comfort but somehow had become nervous himself. “The thing you’ve got to remember is that a horse is a prey animal. Some of them spook pretty easy, if you move too fast or the wind is blowing your skirt, they could react.”
“React?”
“Bolt or rear up on their hindquarters.”
She shivered, and he felt the shudder travel up her arm. He could well imagine what was going through her head, imagining such a huge animal going wild. He’d been up close when it had happened, training a nervous filly once with his brother Oscar.
“If that happens you get as far away as you can. But these two are pretty calm. You won’t have to worry about them startling. They’ve been around lots of folks, lots of situations. They’ll treat you right.”
He took her hand and tugged her forward into the lean-to, nearer the horses’ heads.
He hadn’t figured on just how close they would have to be for this to work.
He set her in front of him, guiding her with a casual hand at her hip. She was now between him and the horse. The lamp was behind them, back by the door, casting them in shadow.
He hadn’t counted on this attraction to her but couldn’t deny the blood pounding through him. He needed to think of the cattle, of the risky venture and his duty, but the truth was he couldn’t do anything for the animals tonight, not in this storm.
She was still another man’s wife, at least she must believe so with her husband so fresh in the ground. And pregnant to boot.
But he couldn’t help what he felt, could only resolve to treat her with the respect she deserved and his ma would demand.
He took her hand in his again, brought it to the bridge of the horse’s nose and pressed her palm against the placid animal.
“Get used to him. Feel where his nose begins, where his ears are.”
He swept her hand over the horse’s face, top to bottom and then over again. He breathed in horse and cold and woman.
Sparks hung in the air between them like he’d just struck a flint to tinder, or maybe he was imagining it.
When he’d dreamed of a family, a wife at his side, he’d dreamed of this. This flame of attraction, of just being with a woman who fit with him.
Imagining it or not, he forced himself to let go of her, tried for a joking tone even when his voice emerged hoarse. “This fella’s got a long, mopey sorta face, but the fillies don’t seem to mind.”
She didn’t move away as he expected she might, even when a neigh rumbled deep in the horse’s chest, possibly in argument with Davy’s commentary on his looks.
Davy grabbed a leather bridle off its hook. The clink of the bit against a buckle had the animal’s head turning, and Rose gasped, stepping back into Davy’s shoulder.
“It’s all right. He knows what this is, probably wondering why I’m making him go out on such a cold night.” He ruffled the horse’s mane. “We ain’t going anywhere, you old coot.”
He handed the mess of leather straps to Rose, let her get a good feel of them, moving back a much-needed step so she’d have more light. And so he could catch his breath.
The horse butted his upper arm, and Rose’s head came up, watching Davy. He couldn’t read her eyes in the darkness.
“Have you always been such a horseman?” she asked softly.
* * *
Rose stood with the brisk air in the lean-to cooling her cheeks. Shaken.
Even though the cowboy had backed away, she still felt the fine tension simmering in the air between them. The crunch of sweet-smelling hay beneath her feet and the feel of leather in her hands grounded her. This was really happening.
She hadn’t been so close to a man since Jamie.
And even with Jamie, how long had it been since she’d felt awareness? This strongly?
Maybe never.
Unwanted feelings for the cowboy had chased away her unease at being near the huge horse.
Or maybe it was just the cowboy himself, his implacable presence that had calmed her. She was drawn to the comfort he offered because it had been missing with Jamie and with her parents for so long. But it was dangerous to desire his comfort. She’d thought she could rely on Jamie, only to find heartache when she had.
“No,” he answered her question wryly. “When Pa first took me in I was afraid of ’em.”
It was hard to imagine the cowboy being afraid of anything. He was so calm, so capable.
“But my pa was patient, taught me how to treat ’em right...” He shrugged as if to say, The rest is history. “And now I’m teaching you.”
He spread the bridle, showed her the bit and the buckles and the proper way to hold it.
And then he gave her a gentle nudge toward the horse’s head.
Anxiety speared through her on the heels of an internal push from the baby. What if she did it wrong? What if she scared the horse and it reared? In this small space she would be stepped on.
“You want me to put it on?” Her voice trembled on the words.
She tried to hand it back to him with shaking hands, and the buckles tinked together softly.
He closed those big hands over hers where she still held the leather.
“I figure if it’s a life or death situation, you don’t hafta get a saddle on. But you’ll have more control over the horse with a bridle on.”
Her unease lingered. She didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to think about being stranded out here again. Didn’t want to be out here in the wilds in the first place. This was all Jamie’s fault. And hers for choosing him.
“My little sister’s been tacking up her own horse since she was eight. I know you can do this.”
She didn’t know. But the quiet confidence in his words bolstered her enough to move on numb legs toward the horse’s head and those huge teeth she’d seen when it had been talking to Davy.
“What if he bites me?” she whispered.
“Then bite him back,” the cowboy said, close to her ear. She could tell without looking he was smiling.
Her Convenient Cowboy Page 5