The Case Of The Bad Luck Fiance

by Sheryl Lynn

  Megan threw the rabbit but missed by a mile. Plenty of power, but no eye. She couldn’t hit an elephant if it were sitting on the foot of her bed. Janine slipped out of the room.

  “You’re nuts,” Megan muttered. “Absolutely out of your mind.”

  TODAY WOULD BE PERFECT, Megan determined—in spite of William Cayle. The boy had been bubbly at breakfast, full of high spirits and teasing his father unmercifully—until Megan informed him that both Kara and the Colonel were working this morning. William’s good humor had blanked off, proving he adored her family but hated her.

  The strain eased somewhat when the three of them entered the barn where Cody awaited them with three saddled horses. When Megan introduced the teenager to the wrangler, William turned on the charm as if he and Cody were lifelong friends. Between her sister and Tristan’s son, she wondered if her romance stood a chance.

  Megan handed the reins of a leggy copper-colored gelding to Tristan. “This is Itchy. Other than Doc, he’s the biggest horse we have. I think you’ll like him.”

  “Strong-looking fellow.” He patted the gelding’s neck.

  Megan nodded at a sleek bay mare without a trace of white on her dark red coat. “This is Daisy, William. She’s the smartest horse we own. So watch out for her tricks.”

  William stroked Daisy’s delicate head and peered into her large, mischievous eyes. “Is she an Arab?”

  “Half Arabian, half Morgan. She’s quick and she likes to play. So pay attention.”

  She untied Doc’s reins from a post and led him out of the barn. Doc snuffled her shoulder, nibbled her hair and blew grassy kisses across her face.

  Bringing Daisy around, William stared openmouthed at Megan’s horse. “What kind of saddle is that?” He sounded horrified as he swept his gaze over Doc’s tack. His eyes widened in disbelief as Megan fitted on her helmet and buckled the chin strap.

  “It’s an English hunt saddle.” She flipped Doc’s reins over his head and gathered them in her left hand at the pommel. Catching a smirk on Tristan’s face, she narrowed her eyes. Acting older she could manage, but she wasn’t changing her riding style just to impress him. “Would you give me a leg, Tristan?”

  He moved in graciously, but the smirk remained. He interlaced his fingers knee-high, and she stepped onto his hands with her left foot. She swung onto Doc’s tall back and settled her feet in the stirrups.

  “That’s a fancy rig,” Tristan said. “Is it comfortable riding?”

  “Sure you don’t want to ride sidesaddle?” William hooted a derisive laugh.

  “Hush, son.”

  Intuiting this was an indicator of how her “perfect” day might go, Megan tried to think of some alternative activity for William. The only thing that came to mind was ordering the boy to go sulk alone in the cabin, but that would sound ungracious.

  She watched Tristan and William mount with the nonchalant grace of men born to the saddle. Daisy’s snorting, dancing and sidestepping gave Megan a measure of satisfaction. The boy would have his hands full settling the mare.

  She shifted her attention to Tristan. Denim stretched around his muscular thighs, and the rolled sleeves of his chambray shirt revealed corded forearms. The size of his knobby wrists and hands spoke of massive bones. Only rarely had she seen the combination of football-player size and almost poetic gracefulness. His perfectly proportioned build would make a track coach drool. Saddle leather squeaked as he tested the stirrups. Itchy swiveled an ear but otherwise stood perfectly still.

  “Ready?” she asked, and turned Doc toward the trailhead. Out of sheer orneriness she touched her heels to the horse’s sides. She posted comfortably, rocking in rhythm with Doc’s long-legged stride. Right on cue, Daisy broke into her jarring, high-stepping trot, and William jounced on the saddle like a paddleball.

  Her annoyance at William faded when they reached the trees and familiar pleasure filled her. Ponderosa and lodgepole pines were running with sap, tingeing the air with their scent. The trail was golden with a dusting of yellow pollen. The aspen leaves were feathery and new, emerald green against the paper white trunks, and low-growing flowers dotted the forest floor with purple, pink and bright yellow. Even the scrub oaks were in bloom with yellow-green drupes of tiny flowers.

  A hilltop offered a view of a narrow meadow where three mule deer grazed the new grass. A buck, his new antlers mere fuzzy nubs, lifted his head, and his ears swiveled to follow the soft sound of hooves on dirt.

  “This forest is magical,” Megan said, keeping Doc at a slow pace despite his chomping at the bit to chase after Daisy. “Whenever I’m worried or feeling blue, all it takes is a ride or a walk and I’m all better. Do you have magic places on the ranch?”

  “Reckon I do.” Tristan glanced at his son who rode far ahead. “I’m sorry about William teasing—”

  She interrupted. “Ha! If you want to hear real teasing you ought to meet my brother. Ross shows no mercy to anyone. Trust me, I can take it.”

  Tristan nodded. “I can see that.”

  She gave them a leisurely tour of the forest, pointing out interesting sights and the varieties of trees. Pines dominated, but there were aspen groves, knots of spruce and Douglas fir, and tangles of low growing oak. Pine squirrels chased each other up and down the tree trunks. Black Abert squirrels with their huge tufted ears bounded across the trail. Noticing a flash of buff, Megan pointed out a doglike swift fox slinking through the shadows. All . around them the forest rang with the spring songs of jays, nuthatches, creepers and bluebirds.

  Tristan complimented Megan on her horsemanship. She returned the compliment in all sincerity. He rode easy on the saddle, moving as one with his horse. He and Itchy acted as if they’d known each other for years.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This is such a pretty place I don’t see how you’d ever want to leave.”

  Her back muscles tensed. “It isn’t mine.”

  The trail narrowed, and riding side by side put them so close their legs touched.

  “When I went to school with civilians, I was always envious of kids who’d lived in the same house all their lives. Living in the same place, having a history. I was born on a military post, so I don’t even have a hometown.”

  “Hard to imagine,” he said sympathetically.

  She reined Doc to a stop, watching William riding on the trail below. Tristan had told her of the boy’s wish to leave Wyoming and travel the world. If only the kid knew how lucky he was. “I work for my parents because I get free room and board. I save almost everything I earn so that someday I can buy my own house. Once I get it, I’m never moving.” She nodded firmly. “I’m planting myself.”

  “Reckon I never looked at it that way.” He rested his arms on the saddle horn. “I’ve got roots so deep they trip me sometimes.”

  “That’s what I want. I want to know everybody in town and have everybody know me and know what I’m going to be doing and where I’ll be living in the next year, or the next five years. Or twenty. When I have kids, I’m never making them move.”

  Cocking back his hat, he regarded Megan gravely, his brown eyes solemn.

  “I always had such big dreams,” she said. “I went for the Olympics because, well, I’m fast. The Colonel loved it. He never missed a track meet.” She held her thumb and forefinger a hairbreadth apart. “I came this close to breaking the women’s mile record before my knees gave out. When I tried to join the army it was so I could make him happy. I wonder if I flopped out because they weren’t my dreams. Fate stepped in and said no.”

  Tristan’s generous mouth twitched in a grin. “You and fate.”

  Fearing he might consider her beliefs immature, she lowered her face. “I’m not a New Age nut with crystals and astrology and stuff. I don’t chant or beat drums.”

  “You’re sensible.”

  She peeked, checking to see if he meant it. He didn’t appear to be ridiculing her. “If I didn’t have rotten knees, I never would have met you. Isn’t that fate?”


  He frowned thoughtfully.

  “You said it was bad luck getting run over by the bull, but then you met me. You said you never would have fooled around with the computer chat boards if you hadn’t been laid up with a broken leg.”

  “Never looked at it that way.” He chuckled. “Maybe there’s something to fate, after all.”

  “Flopping out of the Olympics and the army really hurt. But if I’d succeeded in either one, I’d be traveling all the time, living in temporary homes, never knowing what next year might bring. I wouldn’t have met you.”

  “You’re convinced fate means for us to be together.”

  Leaning over the saddle, she looked deeply into his eyes. “Don’t you? Or were you just kidding when you kissed me?”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips and winked. “Or could be a cute little filly making this old stallion feel young. That’s biology, honey, not fate.”

  Lifting her nose in the air, she daintily clucked her tongue and applied her heels to Doc’s ribs. He stepped out smartly, eager for some action, but Megan held him back. These trails weren’t meant for races.

  Megan kept her gaze straight ahead, pretending Tristan didn’t exist. Biology!

  “Where did that boy go?”

  “He’s up ahead,” she answered, before remembering he annoyed her. She looked over her shoulder and found him grinning smugly. Where the trees thinned, she pointed. The lodge roof was visible from their vantage point. “There he is.” She urged Doc into a canter.

  Tristan followed suit, allowing Itchy to pull ahead. Doc strained at the bit, but she knew better than to let him run.

  They left the trees and reached rolling hills covered with alpine grasses dotted by fireweed, Indian paintbrush, cinquefoil and pasque. A well-beaten path curved lazily around rock formations, scrub oak tangles and small stands of trees. William used his hat to wave at them as he guided Daisy in a looping circle.

  As William drew near, Doc grew more fractious. Occasionally the thoroughbred forgot he was a wellmannered trail horse much too old for racing. Megan relaxed her seat, but firmed her grip on the reins, pulling the curb bit down to make him pay attention.

  “I don’t get that saddle,” William said. “Can’t rope with it. Can’t carry nothing. What good is it?”

  “I’m not rounding up cattle.” For Tristan’s benefit, she added, “I ride western, and quite well, thank you, but I prefer English. It’s comfortable and easy on the horse.”

  “You’re using both hands on the reins.” William snorted derisively. “What if you gotta scratch or something? And how come you call it a hunt saddle when you can’t hunt nothing? Shoot, can’t even tote a rifle.”

  Tristan lowered his face so his hat hid his expression, but Megan suspected he was amused.

  “Hunting as in foxhunting and jumping.”

  “Do you know how to rope?”

  She noticed Tristan was staying out of the conversation. Fine, all the better to show him she knew how to handle children. “No, but I bet you can teach me. Your father says you compete in calf roping.”

  He sat straighter and worked his shoulders. “I’m pretty good. But girls don’t do so good roping. Not strong enough.”

  She inhaled sharply. “What a crock! I was a worldclass athlete, buddy. I’m plenty strong.”

  “Athlete,” he said with a sneer. “Girl sports, like tennis.”

  She and William rode side by side, but he kept Daisy at a foreshortened lope, slightly ahead of Doc. The tall horse trotted, fighting the reins in an effort to get ahead; his gait had turned choppy. The teenager’s know-it-all grin irked Megan. “I’d tear you to pieces on the court, kid. Or maybe you’re too chicken to try me?”

  He swept out a hand, indicating where the wide trail curved toward the lodge. “I’m not too chicken to try this mare against that overgrown mule.”

  Megan laughed. “Don’t even think about racing. That pony doesn’t stand a chance against Doc.”

  “Now you’re the chicken,” he drawled, and tugged down the brim of his hat.

  “Settle down, you two,” Tristan called.

  Her heart quickened, and excitement tightened her belly the way she used to feel on the blocks while awaiting the starting pistol in a race. Sweetening the sensation was not knowing for certain if Doc could outrun Daisy. He was an older horse, and Daisy was young, plus William was an expert rider. Then again, Doc carried less weight. Odds were even she could blast the little snot’s smugness into outer space.

  She tightened her thighs and loosened the reins. In three beats Doc drew ahead of Daisy. She concentrated on working the bit so Doc didn’t take it in his teeth. He settled easily into a canter, his ears up, paying attention to her.

  “Hee-yah!” William waved his hat as he and Daisy raced past, churning clouds of reddish dust.

  Megan felt Doc coil beneath her like a spring, and he jerked his head. The reins sawed through her fingers, burning her flesh. She wanted more than anything to turn him loose, let him rip down the road like a dervish and make William eat her dust.

  She didn’t dare.

  “Whoa, Doc!” She hauled the reins down and back. Tristan came up on her left, his slouching seat deceptively casual. The corners of his mouth had turned down. She shoved her weight into the stirrups and pulled the reins. “I said, whoa!”

  Doc snorted and laid his ears, but he broke stride, slowing.

  Daisy ran like the wind, her hooves not appearing to touch the ground. As if realizing he raced alone, the boy abruptly reined the mare to the left and she flew over the grass in a wide circle, gradually slowing as she approached them. William smiled in triumph, showing an expanse of white teeth. “Pony?” he shouted. “This lady’s got heart!”

  “Slow it down, son. You don’t know the terrain.”

  William extended his legs, grabbed the saddle horn in his right hand and hauled the reins. Daisy tucked her head and hindquarters, sliding to a short stop, a dusty cloud enveloping her and her rider. If a horse ever smiled, Daisy was smiling now as she stood with her head up, ears forward and her tail swishing. Filled with grudging respect, Megan had the feeling if William asked the mare to fly to the moon, she’d try to please him.

  “This isn’t a good place to race,” Megan said, wishing the resort had an enclosed track so she could show William what Doc could do. Ignoring the gelding’s grumbling, she made him walk.

  William reined Daisy through her paces, forming figure eights in the grass. Tristan smiled indulgently at his son, but with an air of sadness that touched Megan’s heart.

  “He’s great, a natural,” she said. “I’ve never seen Daisy act so good. You must be very proud of him.”

  “I am.” His expression shuttered, closing off from her.

  They reached the main road leading to the lodge. Elise’s flower beds, nurtured into flourishing despite the altitude and short growing season, made a hot spot of pink, purple and yellow in the shadow of the lodge. Musing over why his son’s horsemanship would so sadden Tristan, Megan halted Doc and turned on the saddle to watch William racing down the trail toward them. She recognized a fellow adrenaline junkie—a seeker of chills, thrills and the sheer gloriousness of testing one’s strength, stamina and courage. She wondered if Tristan considered William too reckless.

  “I could ride this lady all day, Dad! How’s that plow horse Ms. Duke made you—”

  Doc blasted a wild snort, bucked and bolted.

  Megan lurched, almost falling, but managed to catch the knee roll in time and hauled herself back over the saddle. She overcompensated and flailed wildly over Doc’s neck, nearly losing the reins. He responded to the shift in weight by turning up the road, away from the lodge.

  The big horse stretched into a full gallop as mindless and deadly as a tornado. Shoving down fear, she concentrated on realigning her seat, gathering the reins and settling her boots properly in the stirrups.

  Cold air bit her cheeks and whipped at her jacket. Her hair slashed at her face and neck. Bene
ath her tightened thighs the thoroughbred’s raw power thrummed through her muscles. The road curved ahead, and Megan prayed the curve would slow him. He had the bit in his teeth and responded to pressure on the reins by stretching his neck and lengthening his stride. Flecks of foam flew back in her face. Her biceps burned as if they’d rip with the pressure.

  This stupid horse is not going to kill me, she thought grimly, fighting to keep him on the right side of the road but away from the rocky drainage ditch. She searched for an opening in the trees where she could turn him.

  In her peripheral vision she glimpsed red and white. Tristan gained on her. Itchy’s huff-huffing joined Doc’s, the horses sounding like steam locomotives in tandem, and hooves pounded the hard pack like drums. The road straightened, rising up a hill.

  “Stop!” Tristan yelled.

  “I can’t,” she muttered through her teeth, trying not to notice the road flashing by at what looked like a hundred feet below, trying not to wonder what it would feel like to fall off a horse racing forty miles an hour.

  “Stop him, Megan!”

  She tightened her grip on his sides and forced herself back in the saddle. She pulled on the reins with all her strength—puny determination against a twelve-hundred-pound thoroughbred with racing in his blood.

  She tried breaking his grip on the bit by sawing the reins. He tucked his head slightly, flinging huge gobs of foam to splatter her leg and arm.

  “Hee-yah!” Tristan yelled, his right arm outstretched, his hand nearly over Itchy’s ears. The gelding raced flat out, coming up fast.

  Doc’s gallop turned lunging as he climbed the hill. Megan sawed the reins even harder, and Doc drifted dangerously close to the drainage ditch. Itchy gained, his neck nearly level with the ground, his white-stocking feet flashing, his nostrils flaring so the red showed. With his shorter legs and powerful quarter horse hindquarters, Itchy took the advantage on the hill, his nose inching past Megan’s leg, Doc’s shoulder and neck, and then they were racing nose to nose. Tristan leaned far to the right and grabbed the reins under Doc’s throat.