“I owe you an apology, Mr. Hart,” Cait said stiffly. “My father explained that since you’ve won Heathcliff’s trust, it is best you continue training him. Although, if it is all right with you, I am to take over some of his grooming.”
Gabe was relieved. He’d always had a feel for people as well as horses and he was happy to be right about Michael Burke. His employer had done the right thing, not that Miss Caitlin Burke seemed very happy about it.
“Do you think you can break him, Mr. Hart?” Caitlin tried to keep her voice cool and steady but Gabe could hear the little tremble.
“I sure hope so, Miss Burke. Would you like to see him closer?”
Cait expected that Gabe would go in after the black, but he only gave a distinctive high whistle. The horse turned his head and when Gabe whistled again, came trotting over.
“Hi, there, Sky, want some apple?” said Gabe, holding one out in his open palm. When the horse had lipped it off, he slipped the halter on him easily.
Caitlin didn’t know what hurt her the most: the fact that her colt, who had refused her whistle came so easily to Hart, or the ugly scar running down his neck and shoulder.
She climbed through the fence and stood in front of the horse.
“Here, here’s another piece of apple, Miss Burke.”
Cait wanted to throw it in Hart’s face. As though she needed to bribe her own horse to get him to know her again. She whispered softly to him and the black stood quietly. Reaching slowly up to hold the halter, Cait brought his face to hers and breathed a few breaths into his nostrils.
“I’ve seen your father do that with Finn. He says it’s a way of communicating with a horse,” said Gabe with a smile.
“May I hold him, Mr. Hart?”
Gabe handed her the halter rope and Cait cupped the black’s muzzle, crooning sweet nonsense syllables to him.
She was as good with a horse as her father, Gabe had to admit as he watched her. She was so intent on getting the black to know her and trust her again that she was unaware of his attention. He looked her over from head to foot and aside from the fancy dress and shoes, liked what he saw. She had her hair pulled back and fastened with a beaded leather clasp, but because her hair was thick and curly, a cloud of dark brown framed her face. Her eyes were gray, flecked with green and her eyelashes were almost as long as Sky’s, he thought with a smile. She was small, like her mother, but she filled out the light blue dress in a very satisfying way. He was lost in his admiration of her figure and was wondering what it would be like to put his hands around her trim waist when all of a sudden he realized that she’d moved closer to the horse’s side and was reaching up to touch the scar.
Sky jerked the rope out of her hand and cantered off, leaving Cait looking down at her palm, which had been scraped raw.
“Damn,” muttered Gabe. “It will take me all afternoon to undo that little move.”
Cait was furious with herself. She’d rushed the horse, and on her first day back. She knew better than that. But it was as though the scar had drawn her hand to it. She’d wanted to smooth it over, remove the remembered pain, make it go away. And because she knew she was in the wrong, she was even angrier with Gabe Hart. He needn’t curse at her like that.
Her face was flushed with embarrassment and anger as she turned to face him. “I don’t appreciate being talked to like that, Mr. Hart.”
“And I don’t like you spooking my horse.”
“Heathcliff is my horse. You’ll do well to remember that.”
“Heathcliff! Where in hell did you get a name like that? His name is Night Sky.” Gabe was fed up with Miss Caitlin Burke, desirable curves or not.
Cait’s face got even redder. “He is named after the hero in one of the great English novels. Someone I doubt you’ve never heard of, Mr. Hart. The man Emily Bronte created had a wild, unbreakable spirit, just like my colt.”
“His wild, unbreakable spirit will do him little good on this ranch, Miss Burke. If he is not gentled in a few months, he’ll be destroyed.”
Now why had he said such a cruel thing? wondered Gabe as he stalked off. He wouldn’t let Michael Burke shoot the horse, no matter what happened. He’d grown to love Sky too much for that very spirit he had just mocked. Something called to him in that horse. It was the inner struggle that he sensed every time he worked with Sky. It was a struggle Gabe understood: the fear of being hurt warred with the desire to trust; the determination to remain free warred with the longing to give his devotion. He’d pay for the horse’s keep out of his wages, before he’d let him be put down.
Chapter Six
“Señor Chavez is here to see you, Señor Mackie,” said the housekeeper.
“Thank you, Maria. I’ll see him in the library.” Mackie pushed back his chair and looked over at his wife. “You’ll excuse me, Helen?”
“Of course, Nelson.” Helen Mackie was a pale, washed-out woman who answered in the affirmative to anything Mackie asked her, having been bullied into submission over the ten years of their marriage.
Mackie was seated in front of the fire when Chavez appeared in the doorway.
“Come in, Chavez. Would you like a drink?”
The man nodded and sitting opposite Mackie, reached out his hand for the shot glass of whiskey. He drained it in one gulp.
“Another?”
“Gracias, señor.”
Chavez sounded Mexican, thought Mackie, gazing at the puzzle that was his hired gun. But he certainly didn’t look it, with his light brown hair and green eyes. Wolfs eyes, thought Mackie.
“So, you visited the Simpsons?”
“Yes,” said Chavez, swirling the whiskey around in his glass.
“And?” Mackie demanded impatiently.
“They are very eager to sell, Señor Mackie.”
Mackie laughed and poured himself another drink. “Here’s to another three hundred acres. You’re a good man, Chavez.”
A good man was exactly what he was not, Juan Chavez thought ironically as he emptied his glass. A good man wouldn’t be suggesting to a small rancher like Simpson that there had been so little rain, señor, and things were so dry that it would not be surprising if, one day, his ranch burned down? It would be better to take Señor Mackie’s offer, si…? “Si,” said Simpson.
A good man wouldn’t be working for Nelson Mackie.
Mackie pulled out a map of the valley. He had traced his own property lines in blue and the other ranchers in red. More and more lines were turning purple, however, as Mackie took over. There were still a few pieces outlined in red on the edges of Mackie’s property. And there was one large area that pushed itself into the blue boundaries. That was Michael Burke’s spread.
Mackie was tapping his pen right in the middle of Burke’s property. “You can spend some of your time with the likes of the Garcias, but Burke’s is the one I want to get.”
“And he won’t sell?”
“I’ve made him two offers, damned good ones. But he just smiles and gives me that Irish blarney of his. It’s bad enough that he owns such a big piece of the valley. But that he’s running sheep on it and ruining good grazing land! And the rest of the men listen to him, damn it. It’s why I can’t get some of them out. So, I’ll have to become more, uh, persuasive,” said Mackie. “Or rather, you will.”
Chavez gave him a bland look. “Just how persuasive?”
“To start with, you will be the one making my last offer. Politely, of course, but let him know it is the last time he’ll have a chance to get out with any profit.”
“Si, Señor Mackie. I’ll go tomorrow.”
* * * *
Juan Chavez walked slowly back to the bunkhouse. A few of the men were playing poker and invited him to join them, but he said no and pouring himself a cup of coffee walked out and sat on the bench outside, leaning his head against the bunkhouse wall.
He watched the stars come out and silently named the constellations. When he sat like this for a few minutes each evening, he felt free and
at peace. He smiled as he remembered when he started stealing this time for himself. He was ten or eleven and had been at the Romero hacienda for three years. The first years of his captivity had been a blur. He’d understood nothing yet was beaten when he didn’t obey old Tomas’s orders. He’d learned Spanish quickly; he’d had to in order to stop the beatings. Or most of them. One night, after all the fires were banked, he’d snuck out and sat down for the first time that day. When he lifted his head, there they were winking down at him. The same stars his father had named for him. No matter where he was, the same familiar patterns would appear. He got back a little of himself that night. He was Jonathan Rush. From Boston. He didn’t remember much more than that and the names of the star patterns and his father’s voice. From then on, wherever he was, whomever he was working for, he would take those few minutes of freedom.
* * * *
In the morning he was up and out early. He went alone. He preferred being alone and he worked better that way. He didn’t need any riders to back him up. He was very good at conveying Mackie’s threats all by himself.
Elizabeth was watering her flowers when she heard him ride in. She looked up, ready to smile and invite a neighbor in for a cup of tea. It was a warm morning, but she felt herself grow cold when she recognized Chavez. He was alone, thank God. Maybe he was just on his way somewhere and had stopped to water his horse? She put her bucket down and wiping her hands on her apron, walked up the porch steps and called to her husband.
“Michael. We have a visitor.”
Jake had gone for the mail yesterday, and Michael was engrossed in the newspaper. “Who is it, Elizabeth?”
“I believe it is Mackie’s man, Chavez.”
Michael took off his reading glasses and stood up. Chavez. He looked over at the wall where his cavalry pistol hung. He didn’t wear a gun regularly, although he always rode with a rifle. He’d worn a pistol long enough in the army, he told anyone who asked. Well, he was not putting it on today, he decided. Not and appear scared of scum like Chavez.
He pushed open the screen door and stood next to his wife.
Chavez had tied his horse and was watching Gabriel work one of the two-year-olds, just as if he were any neighbor here for a visit.
“Wait here, a ghra,” Michael told his wife.
“Buenos dias,” he said quietly when he reached the corral fence.
“Buenos dias, Señor Burke. Parece que usted se consiguió un hombre que sabe de caballos.”
“Yes, Gabe is very good with my horses. Are you interested in buying one, Señor Chavez?”
Chavez laughed and turning to Michael, put out his hand. “I don’t think we have ever really met, Mr. Burke.”
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure of a formal introduction, Chavez. But I feel like I know you,” Michael added. He kept his hand by his side and finally Chavez dropped his.
“I am not here for the pleasure of watching your beautiful horses, Mr. Burke. I am here on business.”
“And would that be your business or Mr. Mackie’s business?” Michael asked caustically.
“Mr. Mackie’s business is my business.”
“Yes, so I thought, Señor Chavez.”
“Señor Mackie sent me to tell you that he has reconsidered his offer.”
“Em, he has decided that he doesn’t want my ranch after all?” asked Michael with dry humor.
“No, he has decided he wants it so much he is willing to give you twenty dollars more an acre.”
“ ‘Tis a more than generous offer,” said Michael.
“Yes. It would be to your advantage to take it, Señor Burke.”
Michael was silent for a minute and Chavez turned back to watch Gabe.
“Em…exactly why would you advise me to accept, Chavez?”
“Because not only is it a more than generous offer, it is Señor Mackie’s last offer, Señor Burke.”
“ ‘Tis indeed?” said Michael. “You mean he’ll be giving up on me after all this?”
Chavez turned. “Mr. Mackie never gives up on anything he wants, señor. Let us just say it is the last time he will be so generous.” Chavez’s eyes were unreadable as he continued. “You have a nice place here, Mr. Burke. Beautiful horses. A lovely wife and daughter, I hear.”
On the surface, Chavez’s words were only a polite litany, but the undertone had nothing of politeness in it.
“Are ye threatening me, Señor Chavez?” Michael asked calmly.
“Why, I am just making an observation, señor. But life is, I am sure you would agree, uncertain. I would urge you to take advantage of Señor Mackie’s offer.”
“Tell Mr. Mackie I appreciate his generosity, but I prefer the uncertainty of life to being driven off my land by a bully and his hired gun.”
Chavez gave Michael an empty smile and said: “I am sorry that is your decision, Mr. Burke. Hasta luego….”
“You are sorry, my arse,” muttered Michael as he watched Chavez ride away. “And I’m sure I will be seeing you again.”
* * * *
Gabe had seen Chavez ride in and had considered interrupting the lunging for a few minutes. But Chavez was alone and Michael right inside, so he decided to go on with his work and just keep his ears and eyes open for trouble.
He ignored Chavez when the man came over to the corral. He couldn’t hear what Michael and his visitor were saying, but their faces were calm enough, so he put his attention on the two-year-old. After Chavez had ridden away, Michael stayed by the fence and watched until Gabe had finished.
“She’s a sweet-tempered filly, isn’t she, Gabe?” he said when his employee led the horse over to the fence.
Gabe stroked the filly’s nose. “She is, Mr. Burke.” He hesitated and then added, “I saw you had a visitor.”
“Señor Chavez, yes.”
“I know that this is none of my business,” Gabe said hesitantly.
“ ‘Tis indeed yer business, boyo, if you work for me. Mr. Nelson Mackie had made me another offer. His last offer, so I’ve been told.”
“And you refused,” Gabe said quietly.
“I refused,” said Michael. “I will not let anyone buy me off a place I’ve built with me own sweat and hard work. ‘Tis my home and my family’s and this is one Irishman who won’t be driven off his land.”
“Good for you, Mr. Burke.”
“Well, now, Gabe, I don’t know that it will be good for me,” Michael responded with a wry smile. “It might be very bad for all of us.” He looked Gabe in the eye and said seriously: “Now is the time for leavin’, Gabe. I’d not think ill of you if ye did.”
Gabe returned Michael’s gaze steadily. “Why, I haven’t finished with these horses, Mr. Burke. And there is still Night Sky to gentle for your daughter.”
Michael nodded. “Well, don’t say I haven’t warned ye, lad. But I can’t deny I was hoping ye’d say it. ‘Twas a good day for us when Eduardo sent ye here.”
* * * *
It wasn’t hard for Elizabeth to guess what Chavez wanted. She didn’t have to be there to know Michael’s answer: he’d never sell their land. Or be driven off alive. And neither would she. Mackie would have to kill both of them if he wanted the Burke property.
She picked up her bucket to go and fill it again and as it bumped her leg she was suddenly overcome by fear so strong she thought she was going to faint. She set the bucket down and sat on the edge of the porch, leaning back against one of the posts.
“Are ye all right, a ghra?” asked Michael as he walked toward the house.
The fear had risen and washed over her like a wave, leaving her drenched in a cold sweat. She shivered, even though it was a hot day. “I just felt a bit faint, that is all, Michael,” she said in a low voice.
Michael sat down next to her and put his arm around her. “You are shaking, Elizabeth.”
She was and she couldn’t seem to stop. Michael pulled her closer and his body heat and the reassuring feel of his arm around her gradually relaxed her.
“Is it Chavez, a ghra?”
“I don’t know, Michael. Something just…came over me when I went to fill the bucket. I am not really that frightened of him, though I suppose I should be with his reputation. I can guess what he came for.”
“And ye know my answer?”
“It is mine, too, Michael, you know that.”
“Mackie is not going to be such a gentleman now, Elizabeth. No, I am wrong,” he continued, with an ironic laugh. “He’ll act the gentleman as usual and let his hired wolf do the dirty work. Chavez looks like a wolf, with those green eyes of his. There seems to be no feeling in the man, Elizabeth, or else he couldn’t be doing his job.”
Elizabeth had finally stopped shaking. “Are ye feeling better, a ghra?”
“I am, Michael. And what about Gabe? Will he stay, do you think?”
“He’ll stay, Elizabeth. And we are lucky he will.”
* * * *
That night, Elizabeth dreamed of her family. Her father was lying there, that black-red rose of blood on his white shirt. Her mother was on the ground, skirt above her waist. And she, Elizabeth, was walking up the bank, her bucket full. “Here’s the water you wanted, Ma.” But Jonathan, her little brother, was gone.
She awoke with a start, her chest aching with unshed tears and she felt Michael’s solid warmth next to her. She burrowed into his arms and let the tears fall.
Michael woke immediately. “Elizabeth, what is it?”
“I had a dream, Michael. A nightmare about my parents.”
“Oh, muirneach,” he whispered and he stroked her hair gently.
“I used to dream of it every week,” she whispered, “but that was long ago in Santa Fe. Before I married Thomas. When I became his wife, I guess I felt safe again.”
“And are ye feeling unsafe now, Elizabeth?” asked Michael with pain in his voice.
“Oh, I feel safe here with you, Michael,” she protested, reaching up to stroke his cheek.
“I know ye do, but with Chavez riding in like he did….”
“I suppose he reminds me of the Comancheros,” she said after a moment. She shuddered and her voice broke. “They were lying there, Michael, just like they were that day. My father and my mother. I was coming back with the bucket of water they sent me for. I had wanted my little brother to go, you know. If he had, Michael, then he’d be alive today and I’d be….”
Journey of the Heart Page 6