“ ‘Tis too early to tell anything, Elizabeth. And we must assume that she knows what she wants.”
Elizabeth slid down and reaching under Michael’s nightshirt, ran her fingers down his chest. “I know what I want, Michael,” she whispered.
Michael sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. Then he helped his wife off with her nightgown.
“You are as beautiful to me as you were the first time I saw you, muirneach,” he said softly, and pulled her down on top of him.
* * * *
The next morning Cait smiled as she watched her parents. Her father came in and put his arms around her mother’s waist as she stood stirring the oatmeal. He leaned forward and murmured his good-morning against her neck. As Elizabeth served Michael his breakfast, she leaned against him naturally and unconsciously. They had what Cait called ‘the look’ in their eyes. She had always rested secure in the way they expressed their affection for each other openly. But as she got older, she began to sense a special tenderness on some days. It must be that they have made love, she had decided one day when she was around fourteen. Not that she knew much about making love then.
Or now, for that matter, she thought, though she could certainly imagine it better, now that she knew the physical details. What would it be like with Henry? she wondered, looking over at him. They had had a few more kisses than that first one before she left Philadelphia. But he had always broken them off too early for her liking. She wanted his tongue exploring her mouth, She loved the feelings his kisses aroused. But he seemed to think her soft moan of pleasure was a signal to stop rather than go on. He would tell her that they mustn’t get carried away. And he was right, of course. But oh, she wanted to be carried away.
Henry must have felt her gaze for he looked up and smiled over at her as he buttered his bread. “I was hoping you would show me the horses today, Cait. And perhaps some of the countryside?”
“That’s exactly what I’d planned, Henry,” she replied with a grin.
After a leisurely breakfast, Henry went up to change into his riding clothes. Michael was already gone by that time, and as Cait helped her mother with the dishes, she asked: “Well, what do you and Da think of him, Ma?” She made her voice sound calm, but she was actually very nervous.
“We think him a fine, intelligent young man, Cait. One who obviously respects you and your ambitions and that is very important,” replied Elizabeth without hesitation.
Cait was relieved. The understanding and respect Henry had for her was one of the reasons she wanted to marry him. Of course there was more to it than that, but she could hardly expect her mother to address Henry’s other feelings for her.
“I had hoped you would like him.”
“Well, we do. But the most important thing, of course,” said Elizabeth with a smile, “is that you do.”
“Oh, I do, Ma.”
“Then that is all that is needed,” said her mother.
* * * *
Jake had described Henry as a ‘fine-looking young man, tho’ he was a tenderfoot,’ but Gabe was not quite prepared for what he saw when Caitlin introduced him to Mr. Henry Beecham, a friend of hers from Philadelphia. The little hesitation before ‘friend’ told him the whole story, of course.
Mr. Henry Beecham stood there dressed for riding. Well, Gabe supposed it was for riding. He had on winged taupe breeches and a black wool jacket. His cravat was pinned with a gold bar. His black boots had been shined to a high gloss, although just walking across the yard had given them a good coating of dust, Gabe had to turn away for a minute at the sight of the hat on his head. It was an old one of Mr. Burke’s, and Gabe had never seen anything funnier than a Stetson topping the Eastern riding clothes.
“Jake is busy, Mr. Hart. I was wondering if you could saddle Snowflake and one of the other horses for us. I want to show Henry the ranch.”
Gabe looked at her for a minute and then giving a curt nod, went into the stable. Miss Caitlin Burke had seemed to pride herself on the fact that she groomed and saddled her own horse, but all of a sudden her Eastern ‘friend’ appeared and Gabe became a groom.
Cait had been riding Snowflake, a sweet little mare. There were two other horses available, Red Hawk, an older and rather plodding gelding, and Patch, a three-year-old with lots of fire and a tendency to warm up by bucking the kinks out if you didn’t know how to ride him. He could bore Beecham to death with Hawk or watch him be dumped into the dust, thought Gabe with a smile. It was an easy choice, he thought, as he saddled Patch.
Cait had not seen anyone riding Patch but Gabe and since the gelding knew better than to play his tricks on the wrangler, she only knew him as an energetic and pretty goer. She was pleased Gabe hadn’t brought out Red Hawk. He had obviously seen that Henry was an experienced rider.
“So this is an Appaloosa,” said Henry, when the horses were led out. He approached confidently and Cait began to point out the distinctive markings.
“There are quite a few painted horses in the West, Henry,” she explained, “but the Appaloosa is a separate breed, developed by the Nez Perce Indians in Idaho. You can tell them by the white around their eyes and the freckled look of their muzzles…and their scraggly tails,” she said, pulling Snowflake’s ears down as though to keep them from hearing the ‘insult.’ ”And, of course, the patterns of white on their rumps.”
Henry moved around the two animals confidently, getting Cait to tell him more of their history, and Gabe wondered if he’d handle Patch just fine.
They were in the corral, and Cait suggested that they mount there and ride around a little so Henry could get used to the different saddle. She mounted Snowflake and started her off at a walk, looking back over her shoulder at Henry.
“I’d be a mite careful with Patch. He’s a little fresh first thing in the morning,” Gabe warned as Henry was putting his foot in the stirrup.
“I am sure I’ll be fine, man,” said Henry, grabbing the saddle horn and swinging his leg over. He had barely gotten his right foot in the stirrup when Patch gave a series of crow hops and then bucked Henry neatly off. Keeping his face straight, Gabe went after the horse, watching Cait dismount and rush over to where Beecham was lying in the dirt.
“Are you all right, Henry?”
“I am fine, Cait,” he said, pulling himself up.
“Mr. Hart, I think you have some explaining to do,” she demanded as Gabe brought the horse over.
“Now, Cait, Mr. Hart told me the horse might be a bit fresh first thing,” said Henry.
“Wal, it was either Red Hawk or Patch, Miss Burke,” drawled Gabe. “And Mr. Beecham looked like he could handle a lively horse,” said Gabe innocently. “Do you want me to saddle Red Hawk?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Caitlin.
“Don’t be silly, Cait,” said Henry. “Now that I know his little tricks, Patch and I will do fine.”
As indeed they did, Gabe had to admit. Beecham was an experienced rider and he conveyed that to the horse this time up. Patch crow-hopped a little, but Henry was ready and controlled him with his legs and hands.
“You can open the corral gate, Hart,” Henry called out after a few minutes. “I think we’ve gotten the kinks out, haven’t we, Patch?” he said, patting the horse’s neck.
Gabe watched them trot away. Beecham was obviously as good a sport as he was a rider. If he had suspected Gabe of anything, he had not let on.
Gabe was a little ashamed of himself. He had encountered tenderfeet before and like all cowboys, loved playing jokes on them. But Beecham might have been hurt and Gabe hadn’t even worried about that. It was that silly outfit that had set him off, he supposed. Or maybe it was that Henry Beecham was obviously someone special to Caitlin Burke.
Chapter Ten
Gabe was not able to forget the way Miss Burke’s waist felt, so small and soft under his hands. He hadn’t felt that way about a woman for some time. After May he had avoided them all, except for the occasional visit to a local whorehouse. He hadn’t had mu
ch to offer a respectable woman, nor did most cowboys, poorly paid as they were. And he didn’t think they had much to offer him. May had doused his kindling interest in women, leaving him distrustful of them and himself. He had always wondered if there had been something he had said or done that had made May think it was all right to approach him.
Then he had finally let someone get past his quiet reserve: Caroline. He had opened his heart to her, had believed in a woman other than his mother and sister for the first time in a long time. She was the good woman he had never thought to find. But that was the problem; she had never been able to see the Regulators as anything but outlaws.
Since Caroline, he’d kept his contacts with women confined to whores. Until now, when here he was, being distracted by a good woman again. And one with Eastern schooling, who was likely going to marry this Mr. Henry Beecham and move away from the uncivilized New Mexico Territory, which demanded more than simple goodness from a man or a woman. He was being ten times a fool to be thinking of the feel of her waist in his hands.
* * * *
After Henry’s first day of desert riding, he appeared at the stable in the same boots and breeches, but minus his stock and wool coat. Gabe was busy with the colts, so Cait and Henry saddled their own horses. Gabe saw them leave and smiled to himself at the change in Beecham’s appearance. He had to give the man credit; he learned quickly. Of course being boiled alive in a jacket like he’d worn yesterday would teach any man who wasn’t a stubborn jackass.
When they returned, Cait saw that Gabe was just finishing up with the two-year-olds, which meant he would be working with Night Sky next.
“Henry, I want you to meet someone special,” she said, leading him over to the corral fence.
“I’ve already met Mr. Hart, Cait,” he said.
“Yes, but you’ll see who I mean in a minute.” She climbed up to the top rail and reached her hand down, pulling him up after her. Henry didn’t need any help climbing fences, of course, but it was an excuse to hold his hand for a minute. She was pleased when he kept her hand in his as they sat there waiting for Gabe to come out.
Cait had imagined this scene many times over during the past six months. But Henry’s sharp intake of breath as Gabe led Sky out was not the gasp of admiration of her fantasies. It was a reaction to the scar.
“My God, Cait, what happened to him?”
“That is my horse, Night Sky. Da thinks he was attacked by a mountain lion. I didn’t know about it till I got home. But it has healed very well and doesn’t affect his gait at all.”
Gabe had been working Sky on a lunge line for the past week. He stood in the center of the corral with a long rawhide whip in his hand, snapping it in the ground to keep the horse moving and reinforce his verbal commands.
“He would be a beautiful animal if it wasn’t for that scar,” said Henry as he watched Sky move from a trot to an easy lope around the ring.
“I think he is still a beautiful animal,” replied Cait in a tight little voice. Although she still mourned his unspoiled appearance, Cait had gotten used to Sky the way he was. And every other inch of him was outstanding.
“Why, yes, of course, Cait,” said Henry, patting her hand. “He is well-named too,” he added, “with that wonderful pattern of white on black.”
“It’s hard to tell what a colt will look like when he’s born, but I was hoping he would turn out like this.”
“Is he broken to the saddle yet?”
Cait let go of Henry’s hand and gripping the rail on either side of her, said, “The problem is we don’t know yet if he can be broken for riding. He is terrified of anyone going anywhere near his back.”
After the lunging, Gabe left the whip in the middle of the corral and keeping by Sky’s shoulder, walked and trotted him in a circle.
“The horse is very responsive, Cait,” Henry reassured her.
When Gabe brought Sky to a halt in front of them, Cait slipped down and pulled a carrot from her pocket. “Here is your treat for the day, Sky.”
“He looks about ready to be ridden to me, Hart,” said Henry, jumping down next to Cait. Sky took a few steps back, but when Cait reached out her palm, he came up to snuffle at it and then looked at her as if to say: “No more treats?”
“I thought you Western bronc busters just get on and ride till the horse is broke to saddle,” continued Henry in a fake drawl.
“Some do,” answered Gabe.
“Da doesn’t like to break our horses that way, Henry.”
“It’s quicker, isn’t it? And in this case, you’d get an idea if he can be broken.”
“It may be quicker, but in the long run, you’ve got a better, more responsive horse if you convince him gently that what you want is really what he wants,” Gabe responded, exaggerating his Texas drawl so much that Cait had to bite her lip to keep from smiling.
“Well, I certainly hope he is broken…I mean gentled for riding by the end of the summer so we can take him back east with us, eh, Cait? He’ll be the talk of Philadelphia,” said Henry, putting his arm over Cait’s shoulders.
Caitlin had dreamed of bringing Sky back east and riding with Henry down oak-shaded lanes but somehow having him put the dream into words made her feel that the reality would somehow not match the fantasy. For two years she had held Sky in her mind, imagining him growing from colt to two-year-old, and in that dream space he’d been safe. But the real Sky had been running free, had suffered a terrible attack, and might never recover from it. If he could be gentled, did such a creature of the West belong trotting down Eastern bridle paths?
“What do you think, Hart? Can you have Cait riding him by then?”
Gabe looked at Cait and then Henry and said, “I reckon we should know whether he’s salvageable by the end of the summer.”
Cait hated him for using that word. It reminded her of what was at stake here.
“It would be a shame if we couldn’t bring him back with us, Cait,” said Henry as they followed Gabe and the horse into the barn.
“Yes, it would, Henry. Why don’t you go up to the house while I groom Sky. I’m trying to spend time with him every day to get him used to me again.”
“Of course, my dear.”
Sky wouldn’t allow a brush near his withers or back yet, but by now he would accept a light stroking with a piece of an old shirt of Gabe’s. It had taken Gabe hours of patient work to achieve that: holding the cloth out, letting the horse recognize the familiar scent, reaching up, Sky pulling back and then starting all over again.
Cait tried to put all her love and hope in to her brush strokes and the soft touch of the shirt. Had Sky been a complete renegade unable to tolerate anyone, she would almost feel better, she realized. What was so painful was the fact that he did respond to her and trust her and Gabriel Hart…but only up to a point.
It was as clear as if he could speak: “I will do this for you and you can come this close to me…but not that, not that.” Cait felt it must be as painful for the horse as for her. She knew he wanted to give in. She believed, with her father, that when a horse and a human worked together in partnership, it was as much a joy for the animal as for the rider.
Gabe Hart was working the way her father would have: giving the horse all the time and space in the world to let him discover that his own need for partnership was stronger than his fear. She could only hope that Sky’s desire would be greater than his fear.
* * * *
“There is a dance in town Saturday, Elizabeth. I was thinkin’ that we all might go,” said Michael at the supper table that night.
Cait’s face lit up. “Oh, Da, that would be wonderful! Henry would get a chance to meet some of our neighbors. We’ll dance him off his feet,” she added, smiling over at Henry.
“Will Mackie be there, Michael?” Elizabeth asked quietly.
“I suppose he will be. He’s made sure that he’s welcome in town.”
“And his men?”
“I don’t think he’ll bring them out full
force, a ghra,” said Michael, patting her hand. “I don’t know if Cait told you, Henry, but there has been a wee bit of trouble in the valley.”
“No, she hasn’t mentioned it, Mr. Burke. What kind of trouble?”
“A Mr. Nelson Mackie arrived here from Texas last year. West Texas wasn’t big enough for him and he decided he needed some of New Mexico to run his cattle. He’s been gradually pushin’ the smaller ranchers off one by one. He’s after us now.”
“How can he get away with that?” demanded Henry. “Surely they would have had some legal recourse?”
“He doesn’t do anything that you might call illegal, boyo, not in broad daylight. He offers fair money, people refuse, he offers more, they accept,” Michael said dryly.
“What my husband isn’t mentioning is what happens between the first offer and the second, Henry,” added Elizabeth.
“Of course, Mackie is never directly involved in that,” continued Michael. “He just sends his men out to do a little bullying.”
“Or he poisons sheep!” said Elizabeth.
“But surely you can complain to the local law enforcement officer,” said Henry.
“Em, the local sheriff in this case is owned by Mackie.”
“The territorial judges then?”
“Did ye ever hear anything back east of the Lincoln County war, Henry?” asked Michael.
“Yes, it was all over the papers at one point how a group of vigilantes terrorized the county.”
“Em, well, ye see, boyo,” continued Michael in a deceptively mild tone, “the newspapers didn’t always get the story right. Those so-called outlaws were a legally constituted posse.”
“But Da,” interrupted Cait, “you have to admit that they acted more like vigilantes than lawmen.”
“By the end of it, yes, Cait. But when the government is corrupt, even up to the governor’s mansion, ‘tis a hard thing to know what to do.”
“You’d not make excuses for the likes of William Bonney, would you, Da?”
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