Halfway up to the horse’s back, she felt a hand flatten against the middle of her bottom and give a mighty push upward. Isabella landed in the saddle with a hard thump and a red face.
Her jaw tight, she asked, “Did you have to do that?”
He laughed up at her lofty perch. “I was only trying to help,” he said with an innocence that made her teeth snap together.
“You can keep that kind of help to yourself,” she told him, then carefully clutching the reins, she pressed her heels to the little mare’s sides.
As she rode away, Ross quickly untethered his own mount and swung himself into the saddle. Trotting alongside her, he said, “Do you know where you’re going?”
She looked over at him while wondering if her face was still as red as it felt. “I’m planning on you showing me.”
He jerked his head to the left toward a rise of rugged mountains. “We’re going this way,” he said, then with another grin, he shook his head. “Have you always been this way?”
“How’s that?” she asked.
“Prim and proper.”
Her face forward, she arched her back as she settled into the rhythm of the mare’s walk. “I’ve always been a lady, if that’s what you mean.”
“I didn’t think any differently. I just wondered if there was ever a time that you let your hair down.”
“My hair is down. But that doesn’t mean I let a man—manhandle me!”
“Oh, Isabella.”
Her name came out on a groan of disbelief and the sound brought Isabella’s thoughts up short. What was she doing making such an issue over something she would have normally laughed off? The way she was behaving, Ross was going to get the idea he was getting to her. And that was the last thing she needed.
But he was getting to her, she mentally argued. When he touched her, it felt like a major event. It left her both sizzling and scared. And that was something she couldn’t let him know, Isabella quickly decided. If he somehow discovered the effect he was having on her, he would probably laugh himself silly. Or even worse, he might take it in a different way and put up a defensive wall between them. That wouldn’t do, either. As client and attorney, they had to have a comfortable relationship.
“Sorry, Ross,” she said as lightly as she could. “I’m not normally so stiff. I…just have things on my mind.”
Grimacing, he turned his face away from her. “I’m sorry, too, Isabella. I wasn’t really trying to offend you. But it looks like I did.”
“No,” she quickly countered. “You didn’t. Now let’s talk about something else, all right?”
“Sure.” He shot her a quick grin. “How do you like Trixie?”
“So far she’s a real sweetheart.” She patted the mare’s neck as she inclined her head to the far distance ahead of them. “Looks like we’re going to ride up in the mountains.”
“Not up very high. We’re mostly going to ride through the draw between them. Think you’re up to it?” he challenged.
“I haven’t ridden in quite a while, but I think I can manage.”
The afternoon was sunny, the heat relieved only by a soft breeze wafting down from the northwest. Pine scented the air and wildflowers bloomed along the dim cattle trail they were following.
Isabella drew in a deep breath of appreciation as she tried to remember the last time she’d had the chance to spend an afternoon outdoors, much less on a horse. Her life in Las Cruces had been hectic, with nearly every waking hour of her day spent getting ready to work or actually working.
During that time she’d garnered an immeasurable amount of experience in the courtroom and behind the scenes knowledge of investigating and trying a case. But her personal life had suffered from the dedication she’d given to her law career. Other than the her ill-fated relationship with Brett a few months ago, she could probably count on one hand the dates she’d had in the past five years. And those had been little more than casual conversation over dinner.
But she had to be honest with herself. That fault wasn’t entirely to blame on her job. No, it was more to do with downright fear than anything else. Fear that if she hung around any one man for more than one outing, she might get to liking him. And if she started liking him, then she’d have to start asking herself if she was really on the right track to love or headed down the forsaken road her mother had taken. In the end, it had been easier to avoid men entirely. Until Brett had come along and persuaded her that she was lonely.
Too late she’d learned he was not the loving, genuine man she’d believed him to be, and the mistake she’d made by getting involved with him had reinforced her determination to never let her head be turned by another fast-talking man.
But Ross appeared to be shooting holes in that strategy and she wondered how long it would be until she regretted ever stepping a foot on the T Bar K.
Chapter Six
Forty minutes later they had ridden deep into the crease of the mountains. Here the trail narrowed and was canopied by huge ponderosa pine. Long shadows, mottled with sunlight, dappled the ground and spread into the surrounding woods.
Every now and then a chipmunk could be seen racing over rocks and the cushioned carpets of pine needles. But other than those furry little varmints, there wasn’t an animal as large as a horse to be found.
“This doesn’t exactly look like grazing area to me. I don’t know what your stallion would be doing here,” Isabella spoke up as her little mare followed directly behind Ross’s mount.
“You’ll change your mind in a minute or two,” he promised.
“I don’t know about my mind,” she said, “but I need to change my seat. I’m starting to get saddle sore.”
He twisted his head around in order to look at her. “There’s a good place to stop and rest just right up the trail here. Can you make it a couple more minutes?”
She nodded and drew up her sagging shoulders. “Sure. I’ll be right behind you.”
The two of them slowly continued on through the woods until suddenly the pines disappeared and they entered a huge mountain meadow. The grass was as high as Trixie’s knees, a sea of green, broken only here and there by the orange-red blossoms of an Indian paintbrush.
“This is beautiful!” Isabella exclaimed as she drew the mare to a halt beside Ross.
A pleased grin grooved the sides of his mouth as he looked over at her. “I thought you might like it.” He urged his horse forward and motioned her to follow. “Come along and I’ll show you something else.”
He was like a little boy, she thought, showing her his secret hideout. The idea left Isabella feeling honored and far closer to him that she should be.
Ross directed the gelding he was riding to the left, what Isabella assumed was a westerly direction toward the sun. After a few moments, they merged once again with the shaded edge of the woods.
She heard the trickle of water long before she spotted a wide stream tumbling down the rocky slope of the mountain.
“Let’s get off here,” he suggested.
Relieved to finally take a break, she pulled Trixie to a halt next to his gelding. “I’m more than ready.”
“Stay where you are and I’ll help you down. Your legs might be a little wobbly,” he warned.
Once he’d dismounted and was standing on the left side of her, Isabella put the reins down on the mare’s neck and pulled her right foot from the stirrup, then arced her leg over Trixie’s rump.
Just as she made the move to lower her boot to the ground, Ross’s hands tightly circled her waist. With no effort at all, he lifted her up and away from the saddle, then set her solidly on the ground in front of him.
He looked down at her with concern. “How’s the legs?”
She laughed softly. “Like they want to fly out from under me. But I’ll be fine once I walk around a bit.”
Nodding, he said, “Go ahead. But be careful. I’m going to tether our horses.”
While Ross safely secured their mounts, Isabella walked gingerly down to the
stream. At the edge of the swiftly flowing water, she squatted on her heels, pushed her hat to her back and splashed a handful of the icy water onto her face. The cool rivulets running down her throat and onto her shirt felt good against her heated skin. She splashed again and used her palm to smooth the cold drops over her forehead and into her hair.
“Don’t drink it.”
The order swung Isabella’s head around and she frowned at him. “Why not? It’s pure mountain water.”
“That’s true. And it’s probably perfectly fine to drink, but you never know when a dead animal might be lying in the water upstream. I would hate for you to get sick.”
She started to tell him that growing up on the Jicarilla, she’d always taken drinks from streams and never gotten sick. But times had changed, even in her short life. Advanced technology had brought pollution. And anyway, she found she rather liked Ross’s protective attitude toward her. It made her feel special and wanted.
Rising to her full height, she said, “Well, I’m not that thirsty anyway.”
Turning, Ross walked a few paces back to his horse and lifted a canteen from his saddle horn. When he returned to her side, he took off the cap and handed it to her.
“It’s not very cold,” he warned. “But it’s wet.”
She thanked him as she took the canteen and tilted it to her lips. After a long drink, she said, “I didn’t realize you’d brought water along.”
“Always. You don’t ever want to break the rule of carrying water with you when you’re out in the wilderness. Your horse could get away from you or go lame—anything can happen. A long trek on foot without water wouldn’t be fun.”
“I’m Apache. Of all people, I should have remembered that bit of wisdom,” she said sheepishly.
A lopsided grin twisted his lips. “Well, Apaches are known for traveling long distances on a small amount of water. You’d probably make it back to the ranch without a canteen a lot better than I would.”
She laughed at his reasoning. “Don’t bet on it. I’m just as soft as any white girl.”
His brows peaked with amused curiosity. “Really? Let me see.”
Before she could make any sort of move, his fingers were sliding seductively against her bare arm, sending a sensual shiver throughout her body.
As her senses tumbled in all directions, her gaze drifted downward to the middle of his chest where a pearl snap joined the denim fabric of his shirt. “I don’t mean that sort of soft,” she murmured.
His fingers paused their movement and the spot where they lingered on her arm began to burn.
“Well, I already know about the inside of you,” he said.
Isabella’s eyes fluttered up to his. “You do?” she asked skeptically.
Her hair was as dark as midnight and her eyes—oh Lord, her eyes were soft and beautiful. Like the wing of a gray dove, Ross thought.
“I think so. You want me and everyone else to believe you’re as tough as rawhide. And you probably are when you need to be. But otherwise you’re as soft as a cupcake.” And most likely just as delicious, he wanted to add.
Her heart began a rapid pitter-patter inside her chest. “I’m too jaded to be soft, Ross. Working in a courtroom— I’ve already seen too much of the bad side of people.”
His eyes slipped over her face and throat where drops of water glistened against her honey-brown skin. From the moment he’d seen her up close, he’d wanted to touch her, he realized. And since then, that wanting had only increased. “You’re only twenty-eight. You’re too young to be jaded.”
With a dry little laugh, she stepped around him. “A person can experience a lot of things in that length of time,” she tossed over her shoulder.
For a few moments he watched her amble upward, alongside the stream, then he carried the canteen back to his horse and hung its strap securely around the saddle horn.
A few steps away, a huge boulder at least twenty feet high sprang from the ground. In a crevice halfway up, a lone pinon pine grew out at an angle to form a roof of green needles above the ground. Easing his long frame down in the shade, he leaned his back against the boulder and patted the ground next to him.
“Come sit beside me,” he called to her. “You need to rest before we start back.”
She eyed the spot beside him with faint misgivings before she finally shrugged and moved to join him.
“I’ve been sitting on Trixie for the past forty minutes. I don’t need to sit,” she pointed out, but she eased down next to him anyway.
“This is a different kind of sitting,” he said. “You can stretch your legs out in front of you.”
She settled herself a few inches to the right of him and the lilac scent of her perfume drifted to his nostrils, reminding him even more of her femininity. He’d not ever taken a woman riding like this and he was surprised at how pleasant it was to have her company. But then, just looking at Isabella filled him with a joy that made him feel about fifteen again. He had the whole world before him and couldn’t wait to sample it.
“Are bears in this area?” she asked as her gaze scanned the meadow and the woods surrounding it.
“Sure. Browns and blacks. There’s also elk and mule deer.”
“My grandfather Corrales used to be a big hunter. He has a bearskin tacked to his wall in his home. When I was a little girl I was completely fascinated with it—the fierce claws and teeth.” She smiled with fond remembrance. “Maybe that had something to do with the wild hunting stories he often told me.”
Ross looked at her thoughtfully. “Your grandfather is still living, but your father is dead?”
Isabella focused on the meadow to the right of them and the sea of green grass softly bending in the breeze. “My grandfather is still living on the reservation. But he’s not really my grandfather in blood, because his son, Lee Corrales, wasn’t my father. Lee had been dead a couple of years before I was born. A drunk driver ran into his truck one night and killed him.”
He took a moment to assemble the information she’d given him. “So your mother remarried after her first husband died.”
A bitter laugh passed her lips before she could stop it. “That would be the logical conclusion. But no. Winston Jones never married my mother. He was already married when I was conceived.”
“Oh.”
Disgust was etched into her frown as Isabella turned her head to look at him. “My mother knew he was married. But she thought it was ending and that he was getting a divorce. I don’t know why she was so gullible as to believe him.”
“Maybe she was in love and she desperately wanted to believe him,” Ross suggested.
Isabella looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “In love? I’m surprised you would say such a thing. I thought you didn’t believe in the emotion.”
His green eyes held on to her gray ones. “I never told you that. I just told you that I’d never be guilty of being in that drunken state of vulnerability.”
He watched her breathe deeply through her nostrils and knew that, just as the last time he’d mentioned love, he’d made her angry. The fact that the word agitated her so intrigued him.
“Well, my mother was definitely in that weakened state of mind for a while,” Isabella told him. “Until she realized Winston had been lying to her all that time.”
“And by then she must have been pregnant with you,” he added knowingly.
Isabella nodded grimly. “That’s right. And once she understood he planned to remain married to his wife, she severed all ties with him.”
Ross’s brows lifted. “What about you? Wasn’t he a part of your life before he passed away?”
Her head bent as she leaned forward and absently fingered a blade of grass growing near her boot. “I never saw the man. Never spoke to him.”
He stared at her. “But he was your father! Didn’t he—”
Her face jerked up and her gray eyes were hard as they met his. “I said I neither saw him nor spoke to him. He didn’t care that I was his daughter o
r that he was my father. I was an embarrassment to him. One that he never intended to acknowledge.”
Men could be real bastards. Ross had always known that. Even his own father had been one from time to time. And he supposed he’d been one, too, on occasion. But he couldn’t imagine any man rejecting his own child. Especially one as beautiful and bright as Isabella. Winston Jones must have been snake-belly low.
“What about financial responsibility? Did he help your mother with that?”
Isabella smiled as though the mere idea of Winston giving Alona money was laughable. “The man was rich, but he never offered my mother one penny. He tried to tell her that I wasn’t his child, that she’d been seeing other men at the same time she’d been seeing him.” She paused long enough to let out a rueful sigh. “You see, Winston’s wife was a prominent woman in Pagosa Springs—that’s where they actually lived. According to my mother, this woman had stacks of money and Winston didn’t want to lose that in a divorce court.”
“How did she ever get involved with the man anyway?”
Isabella plucked a blade of grass and brought it to her lips. “After Lee was killed, my mother—her name is Alona—had my half brother, John, to support. So she took a job in Dulce waiting tables in a small restaurant. Winston did a lot of traveling with his real estate business and he sometimes stopped in Dulce for a meal. He took notice of Alona and asked her to come to work for him. About that time, he’d extended his Colorado office to an office in Chama, and she believed doing clerical work and answering the phone would be easier than waitressing. And I guess by then she was a little infatuated with the man. The way she described him, he was a striking figure. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any substance on the inside.”
A sorrowful pain smacked Ross right in the middle of his chest. He’d been a far from perfect son, but no matter what, his father had always loved him. Why, even the ground they were sitting on was now his because his father had loved and cared for him. But Isabella had never known her father, much less shared a close bond with him. She hadn’t deserved such rejection. And if Winston Jones hadn’t already been a dead man, he would have taken great pleasure in applying a little fist work to his face.
His Defender Page 10