by Janet Dailey
“This time you can ride the buckskin.” Reese swung effortlessly into the saddle, indicating an expertise beyond his simple statement that he could ride. This time there was a glint of challenge in his eyes when he looked down at Kit. “Are you ready?”
Her mouth thinned into a grimly angry line. Her attempt had been thwarted. There was nothing to do now but ride the buckskin herself — if she could. Stiff-necked, Kit walked to where Lew stood at the horse’s head.
“What are you going to do?” Lew muttered through a corner of his mouth.
“Ride him,” she hissed. Pulling her hat down tight, she looped the reins over the horse’s neck and noticed the way he laid back his ears. “Hold on to the bridle — tight!” Kit ordered in an underbreath so Reese wouldn’t hear.
While Lew tightly gripped the headstall, she crawled slowly and deliberately into the saddle, refusing to even glance in Reese’s direction. Kit could feel the horse’s muscles bunching beneath her like a spring coiling even tighter. She adjusted the reins to the desired length and made sure she was sitting deep in the saddle. A combination of excitement, fear and challenge thudded through her veins.
Glancing at Lew, she gave a curt nod and said, “I have him.”
The minute he released the bridle and stepped away, the spring uncoiled. The buckskin sprang into a series of stiff-legged jumps across the yard, giving Kit the impression she was astride a runaway jackhammer. Distantly she could hear the shouts of encouragement from Lew and Frank, but she had no idea what they were saying.
When that didn’t unseat her, the buckskin switched its tactics and started sunfishing, jumping and kicking his back legs high in the air, exposing his belly to the sunlight. Kit pulled leather, but this wasn’t a rodeo contest. The object was to stay on any way she could. She might have too, but the horse’s straightaway line of bucking had brought them to the corral fence. With hardly a miss in his stride, he veered sharply away from the obstacle.
Centrifugal force sent Kit sailing out of the saddle as if she was diving to the ground. Instinct had her rolling almost before she hit the dirt. She ended up sitting on her bruised backside, winded, jarred and mad. Her hat was cockeyed but still on her head. Kit pulled it straight, aware of the others rushing to her side and Lew walking over to catch the now quiet buckskin.
“Are you all right?” The most hated voice of all that might have asked the question was the one Kit heard. It belonged to Reese.
“No,” she snapped and scrambled to her feet without looking at him, brushing the dust from the seat of her pants.
“It looks like I’d better ride the buckskin,” Reese taunted lowly. “You don’t seem to be man enough to handle him.”
Kit jerked her head up to glare at him. She had a fleeting glimpse of the wickedly twinkling light in his hazel eyes before he turned to walk to the buckskin. His statement infuriated her, as he had meant it to, rubbing salt into the open wound of her pride.
Again Lew held the buckskin, but this time it was Reese who climbed into the saddle. Fresh from victory, the horse leaped into action while
Kit silently but fervently rooted for the equine. Reese seemed to be glued in the saddle.
There was a movement beside her. Kit turned to find her grandfather among the onlookers, the bay’s reins in his hand. He glanced at her.
“Was this foolishness your idea?” Nate accused.
“Yes,” Kit retorted without remorse. “I wanted to prove he isn’t as great as he thinks he is.”
“Seems to me that he’s the one doing the proving,” he observed.
Kit looked back to see the buckskin cantering in a circle, humping his back. Her plan had backfired royally. Without saying a word she took the bay’s reins from her grandfather and swung into the saddle.
The bay started forward and Kit checked it. She glanced at the faces of the men watching Reese and saw the glimmer of respect in their eyes. It made her defeat even more bitter to swallow. With a proud thrust of her chin she touched a heel to the bay’s flanks and cantered toward the circling buckskin. More than anything Kit wanted to leave the ranch yard at a gallop, and alone.
Instead, her pride-hardened gaze met that of the buckskin’s rider. “Let’s go,” Kit said briskly.
At a slow, rolling canter the bay left the yard with the buckskin following. They rode to the west in silence. The only sounds to break the stillness were the creaking of saddle leather, the rhythmic thud of the horses’ hooves swishing through the tall grass and the trill of a meadowlark.
The terrain finally dictated a slower pace and the two horses settled into a ground-eating walk. Kit shifted in her saddle and winced at the stab of pain in her bruised hip.
“Sore?” Reese questioned.
Kit sliced him an angry look, seeing that bared smile again, a mocking curve of his mouth as he showed his teeth. The stamp of lordly arrogance was in the bluntly angled contours of his face, a knowing glitter in the gold flecks of his light brown eyes.
“Yes.” And there were a lot more places that were going to hurt before the day was over.
“You’re upset because I’m not the one feeling all those aches and pains, aren’t you?” he mocked.
“You guessed right away about Dusty, didn’t you?” accused Kit.
“Yes.”
She rode in silence for several strides, fighting the desire to defend her actions before finally succumbing to it. “It was only a bit of innocent hazing.”
“I know.”
Kit turned in the saddle to glare at him. “Well, if you knew, then why didn’t you go along with it?”
“But I would have missed seeing you tumbling into a heap on the ground,” Reese argued, amusement lacing his voice.
Turning to stare straight ahead, she simmered. “You never would have ridden Dusty if I hadn’t topped him off.”
“That’s something you’ll never know for sure, will you?” he taunted.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” Kit issued the comment through gritted teeth.
“I haven’t come up with one for you,” Reese said cryptically.
“Stay out of my private life, Mr. Talbot,” she ordered in a cold, hard voice.
Kit turned the bay and urged him down the sloping face of a twisting ravine. Reese followed on his buckskin. Their ride to the floor of the canyon meadow was punctuated by silence. A scattering of cattle grazed on the lush grass, both Hereford and Angus. A pair of white-faced calves were nearby, kicking up their heels in frolicking play. The approach of the riders sent them scurrying back to their mothers, tails high in the air.
Close to the center of the canyon floor Reese drew his horse to a stop. Kit halted, also, to see why. He was looking around him at the rich grassland, the sage-dotted slopes arid the distant buttes looming on the horizon.
“And they call this the ‘badlands’ of North Dakota,” he mused.
Kit understood the skepticism in his tone because she, too, found it wildly beautiful. “The Sioux Indian gave it its name — Mako Shika, which means ‘land bad.’ The French fur trappers referred to it as the ‘bad lands to cross.’ It probably seemed that way after the vast stretches of gently rolling prairies. But it is nothing like the barren and forbidding wasteland of the South Dakota badlands.”
“You’ve been there?” He sat easily in the saddle, a hand resting on his thigh.
“No, but I’ve heard other people talk about it,” she answered, not in the least bothered that she had been no farther than a hundred miles from the ranch in her life. It held everything she had ever wanted. “If you want to see some even more spectacular scenery, you should drive through the Teddy Roosevelt National Park, north of Medora.” Kit was warming to a subject that she loved best — the land. “We had a cowboy from Texas work for us one year. He said he’d seen some high country before, but this was the wildest, lonesomest land he had ever known.”
“He could be right,” Reese agreed.
“It hasn’t changed that much since th
e time that the Indians roamed it or when Teddy Roosevelt had his Maltese Cross ranch north of here on the other side of the Little Missouri River. The advent of the railroad brought the ranchers. The only major difference between those times and today is that instead of the longhorn cattle from the trail herds not getting fat on the grass, we have Herefords and Angus grazing on the land.”
“And the buffalo and the Indians are gone,” he reminded her dryly.
“Yes,” Kit admitted in an offhand acknowledgment. “That’s another interesting thing. The Sioux were a relatively weak tribe, driven west by the Chippewas. But when they acquired horses they became one of the most powerful Plains tribes. Some consider that they were the finest mounted cavalry the world has ever known.”
“You love everything about this country, don’t you? Its past, its present.” Reese omitted “its future.”
Kit was suddenly reminded that he owned this land. “Yes.” Her voice vibrated huskily with the fierceness of her feelings. “And when you love something, it rightfully belongs to you.”
“Does it?”
It was a rhetorical question, one that Reese didn’t allow Kit the opportunity of offering a comment. With a touch of his heel he urged the buckskin into a canter. He was two lengths away before Kit recovered to follow suit. The distance separating them remained the same as they crossed the meadow, Reese in the lead.
The buckskin flushed a cock pheasant from a nearby bush and spooked when it flew up in front of him. The buff-colored horse lunged sideways, skittering away from the game bird. Reese’s reflexes were equally swift; effortlessly he stayed firmly in the saddle despite the sudden change in direction. In control, he checked the horse’s attempt to bolt.
When he had calmed it Kit had to ask, “Where did you learn to ride?” It was a compliment to his skill in the saddle, grudgingly given.
“I’ve been riding since I was small. English-style, western, bareback. You name it and I’ve tried it.” The assertion was made without a single bragging note, a flat statement of experience. “I did some professional showing of hunters for my father when I was younger.”
“I imagine you won him quite a few trophies.” She didn’t know where that bitterly derisive tone had come from.
“A few,” Reese admitted, appearing to be more interested in studying her expression than his answer.
Kit stared at a point between the bay’s ears, her eyes feeling almost arid. “I suppose he displayed them in his castle.”
His mouth quirked. “To my knowledge, we never had a castle in Maryland.”
“In Maryland?” Kit repeated in sharp surprise and confusion. “But the baron … was he your grandfather?”
“No, he was a distant relative of mine. His grandfather and my great-grandfather were first cousins, I think,” he explained. “When the baron died without an heir, I was the closest living relative, which shows you how much the family has died out.”
“I see,” she murmured stiffly. “And you are from Maryland?”
“Yes, I was born there. My father worked for the British Foreign Service in the diplomatic branch. Actually I have dual citizenship, but I consider myself an American.”
“I presume your parents are dead?”
“Yes, I’m an orphan, like you, only much more recently,” Reese stated, Patiently answering her questions. “My parents were killed in a plane crash ten years ago.”
“What did you do? Or what do you do for a living?” Kit eyed him thoughtfully.
There was a cynical twist to his mouth. “My parents were fairly wealthy so I have enjoyed the privilege of not having to do anything for a living. I’ve dabbled in many things and traveled a lot.” He didn’t sound proud of it. In fact, Kit thought he seemed bored.
“And your home is in Maryland?”
“I don’t have a home.”
“You must have an unusual wife,” Kit observed.
Reese cast her a mocking look. “Are you asking if I’m married?”
“Aren’t you?” she countered.
“Have you seen any evidence of one?”
“If you mean because she didn’t come with you, I am supposed to assume that you don’t have one, I haven’t. This ranch has a history of not being liked by the wives of its owners. Their visits have been even rarer than those of their husbands,” Kit retorted.
“In this case, I don’t happen to be married. A wife has always been in the same, confining category as property and I’ve made it a point not to acquire either.”
His reply caused Kit to jerk at the reins, halting her horse, her eyes widening. “Then what about the ranch? Are you going to sell it?”
He stopped his horse, leveling a look at her slightly anxious expression. “I haven’t made up my mind.”
Her jaw tightened. “I don’t see how you could even consider selling it.”
“I haven’t said I would.” A dark eyebrow lifted at the anger in her words, finding her defense of the ranch amusing. “It might be a good investment. And —” his gaze swept the ruggedly beautiful landscape “— it could make a pleasant retreat for a few months of the year.” His gaze returned to dwell lazily on Kit. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid if I sell it that the new owner might not keep you on?”
“No,” Kit answered with calm certainty. “I’m not worried about that.”
Reese was curious and skeptical. “You aren’t concerned that you might lose your home if I sell out?”
“No matter what you do I won’t leave the ranch,” Kit stated flatly and nudged her horse forward to end the conversation.
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Chapter Five
“HE SAID HE MIGHT SELL.” Kit wrapped her wet hair in a towel and turned to her grandfather. “Do you think he will?”
It was more than two weeks since Reese had brought up the possibility that he would dispose of the ranch. Despite her declaration that his sale wouldn’t affect her, there were certain aspects of it that would.
“I don’t know. He could.” Nate didn’t glance up from his newspaper.
“Has he said anything about it to you?”
“He doesn’t confide such things to me,” he answered. “It isn’t likely he’ll discuss it until he makes up his mind one way or the other. Either way it makes no difference to us.”
“I know.”
The house they lived in and two acres around it did not belong to the ranch so neither Kit nor her grandfather were concerned about having to leave their home after all these years. She had guessed by his question that Reese Talbot wasn’t aware that his predecessor had deeded it away and she hadn’t bothered to inform him of it.
Her grandfather’s absorption in the paper drew a sigh from Kit as she turned away. Inexplicably restless, she moved toward the back door and the pleasantly cool night air blowing in to stir the long cotton robe against her bare legs. The day had been hot, and despite a shower and shampoo Kit still felt a bit sticky. Her hair needed to be dried, but the towel would absorb a lot of the wetness and the rest could be done later.
“Nate, I’m going outside for a walk,” she called to her grandfather and received an incoherent murmur of acknowledgment.
Pushing open the screen door, Kit walked out into the night. Overhead, there was a skyful of stars and a smiling moon. The towering cottonwoods along the Little Missouri formed black cobwebs against a dark landscape. Crickets were singing in the grasses, hopping away in silence when Kit strolled near. The air was heavy with the scent of new hay and she inhaled the pungent fragrance in contentment.
The first cutting was all stacked for next winter’s use, a wearying job even with modern machinery. Reese had surprised Kit by helping with the cutting, proving he wasn’t averse to physical labor. If he had suffered from sore, stiff muscles he hadn’t let on. With no small degree of cynicism Kit thought that he’d found the demanding work a change from his normal routine. A steady diet of it would probably soon wear thin.
Thoughts of him were too disquieting on
such a peaceful night. The slight breeze was cooling, the prickling of warmth on her skin already easing under its caress, the cotton robe unbuttoned at the throat. A rustling of the grasses warned her that She was not alone and Kit turned toward the sound.
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Reese commented.
“Yes, it is,” Kit agreed smoothly and resumed her strolling pace with Reese falling in step beside her. “That’s one of the nice things about summer here. The days may be hot, but the nights are usually pleasant.”
“Is there anything you don’t like about this area?” he jeered softly.
Your presence here, she could have said, but didn’t. “Very little,” Kit admitted instead. Her wandering path was making a full circle, directing her back toward her house.
“Are you trying to sell me on the idea of keeping this ranch?”
She couldn’t see his face very well in the dimness of the moonlight, but she could feel his eyes watching her. “Would it do any good if I tried?” she asked.
“None at all.”
“And have you decided whether you are going to keep the ranch or not?” Since he introduced the subject, Kit saw nothing wrong with pursuing it.
“No.” Reese sounded impatient, as if he regretted bringing up the topic.
“You brought it up. I didn’t,” she reminded him needlessly.
He ran his gaze over her, taking in the long cotton robe and the towel Wrapped in a high crown around her head. “You remind me of a high priestess with that towel on your head,” he observed in a lazy drawl.
“Do I?” He had changed the subject and Kit had no interest in any other conversation. She made a slight alteration in the course of her path to make a more direct line to the house.
“Saturday night and no date. That must be a sad state of affairs for a young woman.” The thread of mockery running through his voice played like an irritant over her nerve ends.
“Not at all,” Kit denied with a faintly haughty lift to her chin. “I prefer it that way.”
“Do moonlight strolls ease that restless frustration of forced celibacy?” Reese taunted.