Wild Mustang

by Jane Toombs

  He blinked. “What makes you ask?”

  “You keep scowling.”

  Shane hadn’t realized he was. “It’s not aimed at you.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Why is it you never intend to marry?”

  “I—well, I—” she faltered. He watched her take a deep breath and raise her chin. “Due to something that happened in the past, I don’t trust men,” she went on. “I prefer to have nothing but impersonal dealings with them. I absolutely can’t imagine marrying.” She gave him a level look. “Why don’t you intend to marry?”

  It wasn’t any of her damn business. But, after a moment, he realized he’d posed the question first, and she’d given him an answer. Fair was fair. He owed her some kind of an explanation.

  “The usual,” he said tersely. “We were young and ignorant, she got pregnant, so we got married. A mistake. We didn’t mesh. I took off and joined the rodeo circuit, wasn’t home much. She and my daughter were killed in an accident while I was gone.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Never again.”

  He had no intention of telling her how Deena had begun running around and that the fatal accident had been when she was coming home from her newest lover’s place, the baby with her. Nor was he going to confess his guilt. If he hadn’t run off, if he’d faced their incompatibility head-on and filed for divorce, asking for custody of his daughter, both she and Deena would be alive today.

  Hating to hash over the unchangeable past, he shucked it off by taking a quick look around. Spotting some dust rising, he pointed. “Might be a herd over that way. We’ll head for the nearest rise and see what it is.”

  When they paused at the crest of the hill, he saw he was right, but the mustangs were heading away from them and were already so far away they’d never catch up. Any pursuit would simply make them run all the faster and farther.

  “To get close to a herd, you really need to camp out near a source of water so they’ll come to you,” he said. “Since they normally range over about twenty acres per day, it’s futile to chase them. That’ll just result in them taking off and likely moving off reservation land.”

  “I can see that,” she said. “Shall we plan to camp tomorrow?” Concealing his surprise that she didn’t balk at camping with him, he said, “Up to you. But it’ll have to wait for a couple of days.”

  “Whenever you have the time, then.” She hesitated before saying, “I want to tell you I’m sorry about what happened to your wife and child. I realize the tragedy must make it doubly distressing for you now that you have to worry about losing Sage.”

  He couldn’t lose Sage, that’s all there was to it. His sister belonged here, where their mother had brought her, knowing he’d keep the girl safe.

  Back at the ranch, Shane found the evening meal livelier with Laura present. Not that she did much talking. She didn’t have a chance with Sage and Grandfather both vying for her attention.

  After the meal cleanup, Sage brought out her favorite shirt, which she’d torn on a nail in the barn, to show to Laura.

  “I don’t know how to fix it without having it look gross,” Sage told her.

  Though he seemed intent on the newspaper he was reading, Shane was acutely aware of Laura sitting across from him on the leather couch with his sister. It’d been a long time since there’d been a woman in this living room in the evening.

  “You’re right. Any repair stitches would show,” Laura said. “But what we could do is cover the stitching with embroidery—a flowering branch could run from one end of the repair job to the other.”

  “Embroidery?” Sage sounded as though even the word was alien to her.

  “My grandmother taught me when I was about your age. It’s not exactly fun, but it’s kind of neat to know how to embroider. I can teach you, if you like.”

  “But if I’m just learning, I might spoil my shirt.”

  “Oh, we’ll let you practice on the hem of a pillowcase or something like that. Embroidery isn’t all that hard once you get the hang of it. We’ll need to buy some special thread and some designs, though—in Reno, I suppose.”

  Shane lowered the newspaper. “There might be what you need in Grandmother’s trunk,” he said to Sage. “I seem to remember her trying to teach our mother some kind of fancy sewing.”

  Sage bounced up from the couch. “Whoa! Really? Can we go look in the trunk now?”

  From the corner where he’d seemed to be dozing, Grandfather said, “Our daughter wasn’t much for fancy work, but she turned out to be the best dancer on the res. Not much for picking good men, either, but I got to admit she turned out two pretty good kids.”

  Sage grinned at him. “How come you’re always telling me I’m bad, then?”

  “It’s like Coyote—you got two sides.” Grandfather turned to Shane. “All that sewing stuff is in one of the reed baskets Grandmother’s mother made.”

  Shane rose and left the room, with Sage trailing him.

  “He’s a sound man,” Grandfather said to Laura. “Once he learns to laugh again, he’ll be hard to beat.”

  Laura tried to think how to respond to this but gave up. She found herself at ease with Grandfather as a man, but she wasn’t always sure exactly what he meant.

  Reverting to what he’d said to Sage, she asked, “What did you mean about Coyote having two sides?”

  “One to do good for the people, the other to play tricks on them. I figure we’re all more or less like that.” He leaned forward in his chair, fixing her with an intent gaze. “We can’t lose Sage. We need her, and she needs us.” While Laura believed this to be true, she didn’t understand how Grandfather could think she’d be able to help, even though she wanted to.

  “So you’re going camping with Shane,” the old man said, completely changing the subject. At least this one was easy to respond to.

  “When he finds time—maybe in a day or two,” she said.

  Grandfather nodded. “Desert nights.”

  She was sure his cryptic words meant something that she was missing. “I’m sure they’re lovely,” she said cautiously.

  “Can carry a chill this time of the year,” he told her.

  That seemed fairly straightforward, but before she could reply, Shane reappeared with Sage who was carrying a beautifully woven, round basket, its muted-colored design scarcely faded with age. The girl dumped the contents of the basket onto the coffee-table, and Laura leaned forward to sort through them. In no time at all, she’d located what she needed and, sooner than Shane would have believed possible, his sister was getting her first lesson in embroidery and, by all indications, having fun.

  Grandfather rose and, in passing Shane’s chair, murmured, “Get along well, don’t they?”

  Shane grunted, well aware now of the old man’s motives. Grandfather knew very well why Shane would never marry again. He also ought to have known that dangling Laura in front of him, like a carrot held out to entice a mule, was not going to work.

  “What you need is a kick in the rear,” was Grandfather’s parting shot before exiting.

  Despite himself, Shane carried to bed with him the image of the two heads—blond and black—bent over the sewing. He had to admit Laura really seemed to like his sister. As for Sage, she was obviously in the throes of heroine worship.

  When he woke around three, he found himself weighing the pros and cons of Laura’s suggestion about—how had she put it?—a marriage of accommodation. He cast his mind over possible candidates among the women he knew, assessed them and, one by one, rejected them.

  Cursing himself for even considering the idea, he turned over and tried to chase down sleep. But as fast as he reached for it, the faster it drew away.

  Keep my little girl safe. He heard the echo of his mother’s words in his head. She’d known she was dying and hadn’t seemed frightened for herself, only for Sage. How easy it had seemed then to think he always would be able to protect his baby sister.

  There must be a way. Unfortunately, the only idea he could think
of that seemed likely to work had come from Laura, and that one was impossible. There might be more than one woman in the world he’d like to take to bed, but there wasn’t any he wanted to marry.

  Marriage was a trap. A snare and a delusion. It brought grief and heartache and guilt. And in his mother’s case, disillusion and pain. He wanted no part of it.

  Chapter Three

  Laura was in good spirits as she and Shane rode out early in the cool of the morning. So far, there’d been no problem staying at the ranch. She welcomed the chance to make friends with Sage, although she’d never imagined she’d wind up teaching any girl to embroider.

  It was a skill she hadn’t called up in years, but, as it turned out, she hadn’t forgotten. “Like riding a bicycle,” she said aloud.

  Shane turned to look at her. “Bicycle?”

  “I was thinking that we rarely forget skills we learned as children,” she told him.

  “I was six when my father taught me how to whittle,” he said.

  “I admire the mustang on your mantel. You’re really talented. I didn’t notice any other pieces, though.”

  “Most of what I make goes to the shops to be sold. Keeps us eating.”

  If the wild horse was any example, she thought his carvings ought to fetch top prices.

  They rode in silence for a while, Laura enjoying the clean desert air and the sight of the snow-capped Sierra peaks in the distance. “What’s the altitude here?” she asked.

  “Over four thousand feet.” His glance was assessing. “Tends to bother people coming from near sea level.”

  “So if I sleep in, that’s why?” she asked. Actually she’d had trouble forcing herself out of bed this morning. Sheer determination had fueled her I’ll-show-him attitude or she’d still be asleep.

  He half-smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think you will.”

  After another silence, he pointed to some sleek, streamlined clouds drifting over the Sierra peaks. “Lenticulars. Some weather heading our way. You can feel the dampness in the air.”

  “You’re the local weather expert—I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Smell the air.”

  It was an order, so she did. His raised eyebrows told her that he expected a comment.

  “The scent of sage is maybe a bit stronger than usual.”

  He nodded. “Damp air.”

  She wondered if she’d passed some kind of test. Not that she cared. No, wait, that wasn’t true. She did want to impress upon him that she wasn’t a person to be given the slowest, safest mare in the corral. She was a professional who knew what she was doing, and sooner or later he’d be forced to recognize it.

  A plume of dust caught her eye. Before she could point it out, he said, “We’ll head for those cottonwoods to the right. They run along a stream, and chances are the herd’s coming to the water. If we get there first and stay still, we won’t spook ’em.”

  He was right. As they waited under the branches covered with the bright green leaves of early June, the mustangs they’d spotted gathered upstream—five of them. To her disappointment, the calico pinto mare wasn’t among them. In fact—weren’t they all stallions?

  “Is that what they call a bachelor herd?” she asked in a low tone, admiring a white horse a bit smaller than the others.

  “Right. All young males who haven’t collected a harem yet.”

  As they watched the mustangs drink, then wheel and trot off, Laura was once again awed by their fluid grace. She’d never imagined she’d be so moved by the sight of wild horses.

  “Might as well dismount and take a break,” Shane said.

  Somewhat surprised, since they hadn’t been riding long, she agreed. Once off the mare, she wandered down to the stream—narrow, but containing a respectable amount of water. From what her brother had told her about Nevada, she figured this was snow-melt and that, later in the summer, the creek might run dry.

  Dipping her fingers in the cold water confirmed her guess. Rejoining Shane near the trunk of a good-sized tree, she turned up her face for a moment to feel the warmth of the sun filtering through the leafy branches. What a peaceful scene. She’d have relaxed completely if only she hadn’t been so aware of the man standing no more that two feet away.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said, not looking at her.

  She waited. When he didn’t go on, she asked, “About what?”

  “About what you said.”

  She’d said a lot of things. “You’ll have to be specific.”

  Shane flicked her a glance. This was going to be even harder than he’d thought. He sure as hell didn’t want to say what must be said or do what must be done. The trouble was, he couldn’t figure any other way.

  When he’d roused in the grayness of pre-dawn, he’d seen the solution there before him, like jigsaw puzzle pieces fitted together, each piece a separate entity, but together creating a whole. Like a puzzle, it could be taken apart again, which was the only reason he’d considered it.

  “It’s about my sister,” he said. “I didn’t tell you yesterday, but Judge Rankin warned me I ought to get married or else he’d have trouble letting me keep Sage. Then you talked about what you called a marriage of accommodation.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, I did. I really do think that’s your best choice at this point, since you don’t seem to have any woman in mind you really want to marry.”

  “So you agree.”

  He caught her nod from the corner of his eye. Good. This might turn out to be simpler than he’d figured. Still it was hard to get the words out.

  “Grandfather seconds my choice,” he temporized. “In fact, it was his choice first.”

  “All the better.”

  Go for it, man, he told himself. Stop hedging. Facing her directly, he said, “Grandfather thinks you’re the perfect person for the judge to accept, and I’ve decided he’s right. Since I don’t want to get married and neither do you, we are, as the ads say, made for each other—at least as far as this situation goes.” He cut off his nervous babbling. Damn, but he was on edge.

  She stared up at him, her mouth slightly open. He hadn’t before noticed how perfectly shaped her lips were. Not that it mattered. He kept waiting for her to speak, but she seemed dumbstruck.

  “Well?” he muttered.

  “I—uh—I—” She swallowed and stopped, looking as wild-eyed as a frightened mustang.

  “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “It was your idea.”

  “Well, yes, but I didn’t mean me,” she sputtered. “I can’t—I couldn’t possibly. No.”

  “Why not? It’s not like it’s for real.”

  “But you—that is, I—what I mean is, I don’t want to expose myself to—” She broke off, looking away from him.

  “Expose yourself to what? Me? Hell, I thought you understood I don’t want anything from you except your agreement to be a wife on paper.”

  “I do understand that. But I—”

  “You’re scared.”

  “No!”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, removing it before she could flinch away. “Then why are you trembling?” he asked. “You remind me of a spooked mare.”

  With great effort, Laura pulled herself together. There was no use trying to explain. Shane couldn’t possibly understand why she was “spooked.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I just can’t. Shall we get on with our ride?”

  They’d made a sweep of one section of the reservation without coming across any mustangs before Shane suggested they start back. Up until then, neither of them had said a word.

  “We’ll be taking a day off tomorrow,” he added. “No point in riding in the rain, and it’ll give me a chance to get into town.”

  Laura had no doubt it would rain. Even she could now feel the change in the air—which corresponded to a change in her. Though she still viewed his proposal askance, she was beginning to ask herself if she hadn’t overreacted.

  Shane didn’t want to get ma
rried any more than she did. Surely he’d be amenable to putting everything in writing—separate rooms and all that. Did she believe he’d abide by the written agreement? That was the poser.

  Supposing she did believe he would—could she then tolerate the idea of such a marriage?

  When they reached the barn, she was still pondering the possibility. Seeing Sage come running out to meet them, her face alight with welcome, Laura’s heart contracted. How vulnerable the girl was. Sage must never be allowed to go through anything even vaguely similar to what had happened to her when she was young. Never!

  I’ll talk to Grandfather, Laura decided. He knows Shane far better than I.

  Her chance came almost immediately. Sage had been invited to Donna’s house for a sleepover and wanted Shane’s permission. When he gave it, she then needed a ride to her friend’s house, some distance away.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t start supper,” Sage said to Laura. “I was going to make chicken enchiladas. Donna’s mom showed me how, and I wrote it down. It’s real easy.”

  Laura smiled at her. “That’s good, because I’ve never made them. I can cook, though, honest.”

  “Oh, I knew you could cook. I expect you can do most anything. But this recipe is sort of different ’cause there’s no tomatoes in it. You don’t mind having to get supper ready?”

  Laura shook her head. “Not a bit. You go and enjoy the sleepover with Donna.”

  “Is it all right if I hug you goodbye?” Sage asked, when she had her sleeping gear piled by the door.

  Laura responded by hugging Sage. “Have a good time,” she told the girl.

  After the door closed behind Shane and his sister, Laura sighed. How long had it been since she’d hugged anyone? Not since she’d last seen her brother and his wife and their son Tim. She hadn’t visited them yet on this trip to Nevada because she’d wanted to start working first.

  She walked slowly back into the kitchen and found Grandfather seated at the table with a glass of iced tea. “Sage made you some without sugar,” he said, nodding his head toward the refrigerator.

  After pouring herself a glass, Laura sat down across from him.