The Wayward Heart

by Jill Gregory

  “Oh. Yes. I believe I do. How stupid of me,” Bryony replied slowly, her expression crestfallen.

  Of course, she thought. Riding in, Arizona was not at all like riding in the park in St. Louis. Even she should have realized that immediately. Her English riding habit must look ridiculously out of place in this rugged, untamed territory. If she wanted to fit in here, she’d better make more of an effort to become westernized. She remembered the baggy, shapeless clothes Annie Blake had been wearing that day in the wagon, and shuddered inwardly.

  Well, she wouldn’t need to dress that plainly! She’d need to find a style of dress that would not make her look like a lumpy sack of potatoes. Though Bryony wasn’t vain, she took pride in her appearance, and derived pleasure and confidence from being well-dressed. She would need to change her wardrobe accordingly as soon as possible.

  But, she decided, for today her velvet riding habit would have to suffice. She refused to give up her proposed ride to town merely because she didn’t yet have proper attire.

  “Until I get some other riding clothes, this will just have to do,” she told Buck firmly. “With your permission of course, Mr. Monroe.”

  This jibe drew a burst of laughter from the other wranglers, and made Buck blush. He grinned good-naturedly, a light sparking in his warm brown eyes.

  “You’re the boss, ma’am,” he acknowledged amiably. “I was just trying to give you some friendly advice.” There was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes when he smiled down at her. Buck seemed to delight in these playful conversations, and she’d already noticed the way his face lit up whenever she appeared. Now there was a certain wistfulness in his expression as he gazed at her, studying her dark hair pinned atop her head beneath the derby, and his glance skimming over her figure in the sunlight.

  When her eyes met his, he flushed. Bryony sensed that he was developing a crush on her. She recognized the symptoms readily, having observed them in any number of young men in St. Louis. She felt flattered, naturally, but she didn’t return Buck’s feelings, and she hoped the situation wouldn’t become painful or embarrassing for either of them. She liked Buck and wanted him as a friend. Only as a friend.

  So she pretended not to notice the rapt way he was staring at her.

  “Buck, I heard you didn’t go to Winchester yesterday, as you’d planned,” she went on smoothly. “Are you going to town today instead?”

  “Yep. I need to pick up some supplies Shorty ordered last week, and I’m also aiming to buy me a new pair of boots with the bonus money you gave us.”

  “Good.” She smiled. “I’ll ride in with you. Are you ready to leave now?”

  “Shore. Which horse should I saddle up for you?” He grinned rather mischievously. “As the boss, you get your pick of the lot.”

  “Saddle up the black stallion you’ve been breaking in. I fell in love with him the first time I saw him.”

  If she thought Buck had been astounded before, the expression in his eyes now mirrored absolute incredulity. The other wranglers, who’d been listening, all matched his reaction.

  “Miss Hill,” he said quickly, “I can’t do that. That black horse will kill you. He’s still half wild!”

  Bryony met his gaze evenly. “You’ve been breaking him, haven’t you?”

  “Shore, and he’s coming along, but that’s one stubborn horse, and it’ll be a long time before he’s fit for riding by anyone but an experienced wrangler.”

  “I’m a good rider, Buck,” she assured him. “I can handle the stallion, and I’ve made up my mind that he’s going to be mine. Beginning today.”

  His concern for her made the lanky, sandy-haired wrangler speak with sudden anger. “He’s a strong, half-wild animal, ma’am, not the kind of pony you’re accustomed to riding in the park on Sundays! You can’t ride him! He’ll kill you!”

  The other wranglers shuffled their feet nervously. They thought it utter madness that their new mistress wanted to ride the mustang. After the way she’d addressed them on her arrival at the ranch, they’d hoped she possessed good sense, but this wild notion to ride the spirited mustang undermined their confidence in her. She must be just another ignorant tenderfoot, completely underestimating the hazards of western life.

  If she’d been a man, they’d have shrugged their shoulders and willingly let her learn her lesson the hard way, but she was a woman—a young, lovely woman—and they didn’t want to see her hurt or killed because of a stupid, reckless fancy.

  “Buck, he is right, Senorita,” a plaid-shirted vaquero named Tomas interjected with a frown. “Forget that black horse. He is not for you, that one.”

  “They’re right, ma’am. That mustang’s too dangerous for anyone but a seasoned cowpoke,” another wrangler added. “Now there’s a real pretty little mare who’d suit you much better—she’s gentle and sweet-tempered, just perfect for a lady.”

  Bryony controlled her rising temper with an effort. She knew they were just trying to protect her, but she’d heard enough.

  Men! They thought they knew everything. They thought they could tell every woman under the sun what to do. Well, she’d already made up her mind to ride the black mustang, and she wasn’t about to be put off by anyone, especially her own employees. She tossed her head, and her green eyes glittered with determination.

  “Saddle up the black stallion immediately!” Her tone was firm. “I won’t waste another moment arguing about it—I’m in a hurry to get to town.”

  She stared at Buck, who hadn’t moved. “Do as I say, damn it!” She felt surprised at her own words. Miss Marsh would have been horribly shocked to hear one of her girls use such language, but Bryony already felt herself drifting away from all of her St. Louis restrictions—she was in a hurry to prove that she could survive in this rough land. That she could live here on equal terms with the cowboys who inhabited it.

  At any rate, her strong words spurred Buck to reluctant action. Without another sound he stamped off to the stable and returned shortly with the saddled mustang. His expression was furious, yet fearful. Inwardly he was cursing this ravishing woman who was as stubborn as a mule, and equally as stupid. He was certain she’d manage to get herself killed or horribly maimed by the wild mustang’s mighty hooves.

  Bryony smiled eagerly as Buck brought the stallion to her. What a magnificent creature this black horse was, as proud and majestic as the mountains he’d so freely roamed.

  His powerful legs pawed restlessly at the ground, and there was fire in the bright, intelligent eyes that watched the humans around him so warily. Bryony felt a kinship with this wild, free creature, for she herself had a spirit which others had always wanted to tame. She understood how he felt, no longer free now to roam the desert and mountains at will.

  She was sorry for that, but she sensed instinctively that there would be a bond between them. Approaching him slowly, she kept her voice soft and gentle as her hand lightly stroked his shining black mane.

  “There, boy,” she whispered, “don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you. We’re going to be friends, great friends. Easy now. Take it easy.”

  She spoke quietly to him for a few moments, while Buck, Tomas, and the others watched doubtfully. All of Bryony’s anger had evaporated. She concentrated only on the stallion. In St. Louis she had loved to ride, and everyone had agreed that she had a special way with horses, like a gypsy or a witch.

  But that had only been with tame city horses, and this situation was completely different. She had to focus all her energies on winning his confidence. She hoped the magic she’d always seemed to have possessed would be potent enough to reach this fiercely spirited creature, for she knew that no other horse would satisfy her. This black stallion was likely the only horse in the Arizona territory magnificent enough to rival Texas Jim Logan’s Pecos. They were of the same height, and carried their beautiful heads in the same proud, fearless manner.

  At last, she placed a foot in the stirrup and sprang lightly into the saddle. She wasn’t seated more than an
instant before the mustang reared straight up, clawing the air before him, sending Bryony flying backwards with a mighty heave from his sleek black form.

  She hit the dust hard, sprawling well away from the horse’s fatal hooves, and Buck sprinted to help her up, while Tomas grabbed the stallion’s reins.

  “Miss Hill! Are you all right?” Buck’s skin had paled beneath his tan. “You danged fool! I told you what would happen! You’re just lucky he—”

  “Quiet!” Bryony gritted her teeth, and shook off his hands. She dusted off her velvet habit impatiently. “Hold his reins, Tomas,” she ordered curtly.

  “You’re loco!” Buck grabbed her arm as she started to place her foot in the mustang’s stirrup once more.

  She shook him off and turned her attention back to the horse. This time she wouldn’t expect too much. She’d be prepared. She took a breath and then swung deftly into the saddle.

  The mustang reared again, but Bryony now knew what to expect. She clung with her hands, her knees, her whole body, moving with the animal’s contortions. The stallion wasn’t really trying to throw her, she realized. He was rearing and dancing and side-stepping, but Bryony guessed he was trying to test her more than to actually rid himself of her. She hung on.

  “Wal, look at that! I’ll be a—”

  “Dog-eared Gila monster?” Bryony supplied the words for Buck, a gurgle of laughter escaping her throat as the mustang’s movements resolved into prancing. “Be careful, Buck, or you really might turn into such a creature!”

  She felt exhilarated. All of her gloom vanished as she exulted in the sense of freedom she experienced upon the back of this beautiful, strong creature. She turned the horse toward Buck and the wranglers, who looked appropriately shocked by her success.

  “Well, Mr. Monroe, are you riding to town with me or not? I don’t have all day to wait for you!”

  Buck shook his sandy head incredulously, then sprang into the saddle of his dappled palomino. There was open admiration in the eyes of all of the other wranglers as Bryony and her wild mustang raced off toward town, while Buck, with a yell to his horse, gave chase, galloping down the valley trail.

  Once again their new mistress had surprised them, and their respect for her grew. They grinned to themselves, eager to relate to the other cowhands what they’d witnessed this morning.

  Bryony’s heart lifted with joy as the stallion’s hooves flew across the desert. He was swift and sure-footed; his gait beautifully even.

  This was the kind of riding she’d always yearned for during those sedate afternoons in the park. This was freedom, delightful freedom. Her cares and doubts fell away as the cool mountain breeze fanned her flushed face, and boulders and cacti flashed past. She needed to find a name for this wonderful fleet-footed horse, and decided upon Shadow.

  It suited him admirably, she decided. Glancing back, she grinned to herself, and slowed the stallion’s furious pace to allow Buck and his palomino to catch up.

  In town, she accomplished her errands efficiently—posting her letters for the mail, and making a few purchases in the general store. She was warmed by the reception given to her as soon as the townspeople she met learned her name.

  A beaming Clyde Webster at the general store pumped her hand up and down.

  “It’s a real pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hill, a real pleasure,” he declared. “Your pa was the finest man in the territory, and anyone in Winchester’ll tell you the same. Always had a smile for folks, ready to help a body out if they was in trouble. Yep, a fine man, a fine man. He’s sorely missed, ma’am, I can tell you that for a fact.”

  “Thank you.” Bryony felt a rush of pleasure at these words. How wonderful to know that her father had been so respected and well-liked by the townspeople. It somehow made her feel closer to him. When she stopped to visit Edna Billings at the hotel, the peppery little woman introduced her to several ladies who had stopped by to gossip, and each of them told her most sincerely how well her father had been thought of.

  Bryony enjoyed her visit with them, and was sorry when it was time to meet up with Buck for the ride home. Before taking her leave of Edna and the other women, she expressed a wish that they please call on her anytime at the Circle H.

  Moments later she made her way quickly along the dusty boardwalk. As she passed the swinging double doors of the Silver Spur saloon, she couldn’t resist a peek inside.

  From within came the raucous shouts of men, and the occasional shrill laugh of a woman. Standing on tiptoe she scanned the big, crowded room.

  The saloon was filled with cowboys sprawled at card tables or leaning against the curving black bar. A tall, red-haired woman in a sequined dress threw back her head and roared with laughter at something one of the cowboys said, and a long-legged brunette in a shamelessly tight-fitting crimson dress and high-heeled red shoes was serving a tray of drinks to the loudly swearing players at the foremost card table.

  Bryony’s gaze happened upon one of the men at that table, and she gave a startled gasp, then drew hastily away from the doorway. Rusty Jessup. She had no desire to let him see her. She was just moving swiftly away when a mocking voice from the street brought her up short in her tracks.

  “Well, as I live and breathe, if it ain’t Wesley Hill’s little daughter—in the flesh.”

  She whirled in surprise to face the copper-haired woman she remembered from the gunfight, the woman in the sheer red dressing-robe who had leaned daringly over the second floor railing to view the fight. Today she was clad in a dress of gaudy hot pink that was trimmed in black lace. It left no doubt as to the magnificence of her figure, emphasizing her large breasts and wide, rounded hips. Her long, coppery hair flowed freely over her bare shoulders, beneath a little pink hat adorned with long black plumes. Her tawny eyes held a sly, contemptuous expression as she cocked her head to one side and looked Bryony up and down.

  Bryony had no idea how this woman, who obviously worked at the saloon, knew her identity, nor why she had spoken to her. She stared in amazement until the woman spoke again.

  “You’re pretty all right, just like I heard. But you can’t be too smart, sugar, or you wouldn’t be hanging around the Silver Spur.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Bryony began stiffly, but she was cut off by the woman’s derisive laugh.

  “Don’t go putting on your fancy city airs with me, Miss Bryony Hill! I don’t care a hot damn for them!”

  Bryony clenched her hands tightly. She would have loved to deliver a resounding slap to this odious woman, but she controlled the impulse and instead drew herself up with all the dignity she possessed.

  “I have no idea who you are or what you’re talking about,” she stated airily, “but I have no desire to further our acquaintance, nor to hear any more of your vulgar conversation. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” After this crushing speech, delivered in her best boarding-school style, Bryony started to sweep on down the boardwalk, but the woman sprang quickly into her path, a red stain of anger seeping across her cheeks.

  “Well, that’s just fine with me, Miss Fancy Boots, because I don’t want to further your acquaintance none either! But just remember to stay away from the Silver Spur, and away from me, because Daisy Winston was a friend of mine, and I remember my friends. Get it? Just stay out of my way!”

  Shoving Bryony aside, she stomped into the Silver Spur, her high heels clattering on the wooden planks. Bryony recovered her balance and straightened her derby cap, staring in bewilderment at the swinging doors of the saloon.

  What in the world was that woman talking about? Why had she mentioned Daisy Winston?

  And why is she so angry with me, when we’ve never even met?

  As Bryony continued along the boardwalk, turning the incident over and over in her mind, she collided with Annie Blake coming out of the general store. The girl was dressed in the same unkempt, unattractive manner she had been the first time Bryony met her, and her expression hadn’t changed either. She scowled darkly whe
n she saw who had bumped into her, causing her to drop a hefty bag of sugar and spill some potatoes from a sack. When Bryony stooped to retrieve the fallen items, apologizing, Annie’s expression remained unsoftened. She muttered something unintelligible, and reached for the items Bryony held, but Bryony shook her head and smiled.

  “No, let me help you. Your arms are quite full. Where shall I bring these things?”

  Surprise flickered in Annie’s hazel eyes at this unexpected offer, and for a moment it seemed she was about to refuse, but then she shrugged and jerked her head toward the street. “My wagon’s down there,” she muttered.

  “Good. My horse is tethered nearby. I’ll walk with you to the wagon and give you a hand with these purchases.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  There was silence as they walked along. Bryony glanced appraisingly at her companion, and hostility was the only word to describe Annie Blake’s demeanor. Her angular face was set harshly and her lips clamped tightly together.

  She looked about as friendly as the rocky face of a mountain, Bryony thought with a sigh.

  She didn’t understand the enmity she was encountering in the most unexpected of people, and though in the case of that saloon girl she had no desire to pursue the matter, Annie Blake was a different story. Bryony wanted to know why Annie and her father seemed determined to dislike her, without even giving her a chance.

  She handed Annie her things, then touched the girl’s arm as she began to climb into the wagon.

  “Wait a minute, please. I’d like to talk to you, Annie, if I may call you that?”

  “Call me whatever you want,” the girl returned. “I don’t have to answer to it.”

  “Now that’s exactly what I want to talk about. What have I ever done to make you dislike me? We only met the other day, and I can’t have done anything to offend you in such a short time. You and your father both behaved as if I had the plague from the first moment we were introduced.” Bryony’s tone was determined. “And I want to know why.”