by Berg, Patti
A tall, broad buckskin with an uncinched saddle on his back looked up at her for a moment, then went back to his peaceful grazing on a pile of hay. There were soft stirrings from the other stalls, but no sign at all of a frightened horse.
Back outside she again climbed the corral and looked out across the snow-dusted prairie but saw nothing. No horses. No coyote. No antelope. Only sagebrush, outbuildings, and endless miles of flat, moonlit land.
But once more she heard the whinny. Heard the crunch of gravel. And then she saw it. The massive stallion she’d seen earlier peered around the corner of the barn. Its dark brown eyes were wary, and as the horse inched out of its hiding place she got a better look at its sleek, dark gray body mottled with white hair and a shaggy black mane that shimmered in the moonlight.
She wondered if the horse had escaped from the barn or from one of the outlying pastures. She wondered if something had spooked the creature, because its eyes were wide and panicky as it stared at her.
“Come here, boy.” She held her hand out, coaxing the beast toward her. “I won’t hurt you.” The animal reared up on his hind legs, a vision of overwhelming strength, and when his front hooves hit the ground, she could feel the vibration through the soles of her boots.
Hmmm... a show of power. Typical male, wanting her to know he wasn’t afraid of her or any woman, that he was merely out for something he thought she could provide.
“I don’t have any carrots or apples.” She held her gloved palms upright so he could check them out. “Of course, you don’t look like the carrot or apple type. What do you prefer? Sugar? A pretty little filly?”
He pawed the ground with one front hoof.
“So”—she laughed—“you like the ladies.” Definitely a typical male.
With her hands still stretched before her, the horse took a few cautious steps forward. Something was worrying him, in spite of his burst of bravado.
“What are you afraid of?” She kept her voice low. Calm. “Being fenced in? Someone tossing a rope around your neck?”
His nostrils flared as he studied her, guarded, obviously distrustful of human beings.
Charity leaned casually against the corral, thinking the stallion might come closer if she gave him time to realize she wasn’t a threat. Minutes seemed to tick by as she stood silent and still, her only movement the calm rise and fall of her chest. Then, ever so slowly, the animal came within inches of her, his hot breath fogging the air. He was scared, but far too curious to leave.
For the first time, she noticed the scars on his back and sides. Horrendous, jagged scars that slashed every which way across his hide. Had he been beaten by his owner? Were they scars won during battle with other horses?
She wanted to touch him, to show him what gentleness could be. “I won’t hurt you,” she said, taking a short step away from the corral, moving her hand toward the animal’s muzzle. Frightened, the horse jerked its head, but Charity didn’t back away. “Easy, boy.”
He stilled and at last allowed her to touch him. His coat was cool, shaggy, and thick to keep him warm in the below-freezing winters that were so much a part of this country. He trembled beneath her touch, but he didn’t run, didn’t pull away.
“I’ve got the feeling you don’t belong here,” she whispered, curving her palm gently over the animal’s jaw.
“You’re right,” came a man’s voice from the darkness, a deep, velvety voice that made the horse lurch. “Take your hand off Satan and back away slowly. He’s as wild as they come and if you make the wrong move, there’s no telling what he might do.”
The man’s words didn’t frighten her any more than the horse. In spite of his caution, she wasn’t about to back away after spending so much time winning Satan’s confidence.
“Thanks for the warning, but Satan and I are getting along just fine.” She smoothed her hand over Satan’s neck and chest, even when he twisted around to glare at the man stepping into the light shining down from the barn.
Charity glared at the man, too. “He’s not going to cause any trouble unless you get too close.”
The cowboy’s face was nearly obscured by a black hat tilted low on his brow and the upturned collar of his sheepskin coat, but she could almost feel the iciness of his glare, chilling her in a way the frigid air couldn’t. It was obvious he didn’t like disobedience; and she was making it clear right off the bat that she didn’t like to take orders, especially from strangers. She refused to be controlled ever again.
The cowboy took a slow step toward her. “He could kill you quite easily if he decided to rear again and accidentally clipped you with his hoof.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
The stranger shook his head, but it wasn’t his frustration that bothered her, it was the way he fingered the knot on the heavy rope he was holding.
“He’s giving you a false sense of security,” the man said. “But don’t let him fool you. He doesn’t like people.”
“What he doesn’t like is the thought of being tied up.”
“You know that after you’ve been here all of what... six hours?”
It was one thing having him keep tabs on the horses, but she didn’t like him keeping tabs on her. “I’ve been here most of the day, not that it’s any of your business.”
“I run this place. Everything that goes on here is my business. If you get killed, it’ll be on my hands, not to mention my conscience.”
“There’s no need for you to worry about me. I’ve spent a lot of time around horses.” No need to tell him it had just been those few days at camp. “I’ve been on my own a long time, too, and I know perfectly well how to take care of myself.”
He laughed cynically. “Okay, so you’re tough. Is that supposed to make you an expert on wild horses?”
“He came to me, not you. Obviously there’s something about me that he likes and something about you that rubs him the wrong way. I’m no expert,” she said, aiming her eyes at the man’s gloved hands, “but I’d say it all has to do with that rope you’re holding.”
“He doesn’t like corrals and no he doesn’t like ropes, but he took two mares away from here tonight. Two mares I’ve got to get back, and the only way I’m going to do that is if you move out of the way and let me get this rope around him.”
“Why don’t you just let him go? See if he leads you to the mares?”
“Because I’ve been chasing him for more years than I can count. Because he’d lead me straight to Purgatory if he could.” The man was getting angry and the loop he was building was getting bigger and bigger by the second. “I’ve got a perfect shot at Satan right now, so do me a favor—move out of the way.”
She really didn’t like being ordered around. And she didn’t like the thought of the stallion being roped and penned up, especially when it was wild. Oh, no. Wild things were meant to be free.
It was probably one of the most insane things she’d ever done—and she’d done a lot of foolish things—but she twisted her fingers through Satan’s shaggy mane and with all the grace and agility of a born dancer, threw her long leg over the mustang’s back.
The stallion reared, his angry cry ripping through the still night air.
She’d made a mistake. A big one.
The horse started to buck, and she clasped her arms tightly about its neck. Satan twisted and turned and tried like hell to get her off his back, but she wasn’t about to get thrown, not into the steel railings of the corral.
“You trying to kill yourself?” She heard the man’s angered shout, but she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t even yell for help, because Satan tore across the prairie as if the hounds of hell were at his back.
oOo
“Damn fool woman!” Mike muttered under his breath as he raced for his horse, a golden brown buckskin with black points—his mane, tail, and legs—grazing on the hay he’d tossed on the barn floor hours before. Tightening the cinch, he swung into the saddle and took off after the woman.
A few hours
ago he’d told himself that Charity Wilde would be trouble if he got too close to her, and his reasoning had never been more correct. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d sworn, but he had the feeling the showgirl was going to be his ruin.
**To read more of SOMETHING WILD, you’ll find it in the Amazon.com Kindle store. **