By now several other cowhands had ridden in from the range and quickly gathered along the fence, some whistling and others calling out encouraging remarks to the rider.
Quince's body went rigid, and he clamped his jaw in a firm line while he gripped the fence. If the horse threw Abby, he wanted to be able to jump the fence and get to her before she was trampled. He should have anticipated that his sister would do something like this. Dammit, she always had to test fate and take everything just a little farther than anyone else!
Abby was completely focused on the horse, anticipating which way it would move so she could move with it. She could feel the animal's intake of breath-she could even feel its skin twitching.
Suddenly the horse was airborne, and she was almost unseated. Her legs tightened on its belly, and her gloved hand yanked on the reins. The gelding came down with such force that the impact jarred her whole body.
She was going to be sore tomorrow.
By now Abby had a good idea why this horse had thrown the other riders; he had stores of reserve strength beyond those of any animal she had ever ridden. Even now he wasn't tiring. He turned and spun; he kicked and reared; but Abby stayed with him, moving as he moved.
It was some time later that she felt the animal's anguish-she knew the very moment the gelding started to tire, and she almost wished the splendid creature could be allowed to run wild and free. But her resolve hardened-they needed the money Mr. Johnson would pay them for breaking the gelding.
Jonah's gaze went to the slight figure mounted on the horse. It was inconceivable that a man of such small stature could handle a horse with such boundless fury. One would be the conquered, the other the victor. At that moment he knew that the rider would be victorious. He stopped breathing as he watched the rider's final mastery over the beast.
"If he is an example of your trainers, it's no wonder the Half-Moon has such a good reputation. Is that your brother?"
Quince felt his heartbeat ease, and he relaxed. "No," he said, shaking his head and drawing in a relieved breath. He watched the gelding give a final defiant kick and then lower its head. "Not my brother," he said softly and with pride. "That's my sister, Abby. Damn if she didn't do it!"
Jonah stared in stunned disbelief as the rider galloped the horse around the paddock. He was further amazed when she removed her hat and threw it into the air, allowing one long black braid to tumble down her back. Paying closer attention to detail, he could now see the evidence of her gender-each movement the gelding made caused the girl's breasts to bounce gently. He was both astonished and irritated when he recognized the girl who had spooked his horse that very morning.
"By damn, Quince, she's gone and done it!" Curly said, laughing and jumping over the fence to help Abby with the now exhausted animal.
Navidad ran alongside the horse. "You did it, Senorita Abby! I should not have had the doubt."
Abby stood in the stirrups, bowing and flourishing her hands while the cowhands applauded and whistled, and her brother grinned with pride.
She slid out of the saddle and handed the reins to Curly. "He was a tough one, but I think even your little granddaughter could ride him now."
"Come, Jonah," Quince said, laughing. "I'll introduce you to the jewel of the Hunter family."
Jonah had already met the hellion, and he'had a bruised shoulder to prove it. He could almost sympathize with the unfortunate animal that had become her latest victim.
Abby placed her hands on the fence and hurtled over with ease to be caught in her brother's arms.
"I should be mad at you for what you did but I'm just too damned proud, darlin'!" Quince said.
She always brightened under his praise, and she did so now. "He was as tough a challenge as I've ever faced."
Her brother, remembering his manners, turned her to face his visitor. "You remember I told you about Major Jonah Tremain? Jonah, my sister, Abby."
She had always wanted to meet and thank the major who had awarded her family the contract for the mustangs. But the smile froze on her face when she recognized the officer she had encountered earlier in the day. Her chin went up to a higher level as he stared back at her, his head dipping in greeting, his blue gaze boring into her. Seeing him in full uniform, his saber and gun belt in place, his silver spurs reflecting the sunlight, she thought he was the most overpowering man she had ever met. He seemed to take up all the air, leaving none for her to breathe.
"Major Tremain," she said at last. "Quince has told me so much about you." She watched him guardedly, not extending her hand to him but clamp ing them both behind her back and lacing her fingers tightly together. She waited for him to tell her brother that they had already met. She glanced from him to Quince, wondering what her brother's reaction would be when he learned what she had done.
Jonah was examining a pair of emerald eyes sparkling from a face covered with dust. "I've heard about you as well, Miss Hunter. Although Quince omitted telling me the extent of your many talents."
She felt relief flow through her-he hadn't told her brother that she had knocked him off his horse. But she had detected the hidden meaning that laced his every word. Quince, however, seemed oblivious to the major's barb. Her voice held no warmth when she said, "My brother should have warned you about me, Major. I can imagine I am something of a shock to you."
He watched her unfasten her chaps and unbuckle them from about her waist while casting him a prideful glance. With a flourish, she tossed the chaps carelessly over her shoulder. She had a flamboyant nature that Jonah found surprising in a woman, yet he could not look away from those glorious emerald eyes. He wondered why he hadn't noticed their color that morning. Of course, he had been occupied with other matters at the time.
"Quince told me you could break a horse to sidesaddle, but he failed to elaborate on the full extent of your horsemanship."
She removed her gloves and tossed them and her chaps to Curly. "For those women of faint heart, I can provide a fainthearted nag." She wiped her sleeve across her face. "How is your shoulder, Major?" With that as her parting shot, she turned away and walked toward the house, her head high, her spine straight.
Quince looked bemused. "She must have meant to ask about your leg. I told her you were wounded." With a lift of an eyebrow, he watched Abby hurry toward the house. "She has always shown an interest in meeting you. But if I didn't know better, I'd think she didn't like you at all."
Jonah was also staring at Abby's retreating back. He finally said in a voice laced with humor, "I don't know her well enough to judge, but I don't believe our first meeting went very well."
Quince shrugged as if it were of no importance. "You can never tell with Abby. She's like a highstrung filly-she either likes you or she doesn't."
Jonah didn't know what' to think about Abby Hunter. She had managed to shock him twice in one day with her unconventional behavior. "Why did you allow your sister to ride such a dangerous animal?"
Quince looked pensive a moment. "You saw her-have you ever seen anyone more capable of handling a horse than she is? I never questioned her right to help out around here. If you were her brother, you would have learned long ago not to try to keep her from anything she has her mind set on."
Jonah thought of his own two sisters and counted himself fortunate that neither one of them would have gone near that horse.
"Come with me," Quince said. "I have just enough time to show you the stable before supper."
Abby was still seething as she climbed the steps to the porch. She should have been proud of her accomplishment, but seeing herself through that officer's eyes had somehow dampened her joyespecially since he seemed critical of her actions. She had heard about him so often, and she had wanted to meet him. But Maj. Jonah Tremain was nothing like the man Quince spoke of with such respect.
She had decided to go directly to the kitchen to tell Frances what had happened between herself and the major when she heard a rider approaching from the direction of town. With a feeling of dread, A
bby watched Edmund Montgomery dismount and walk toward her.
Although her father considered the banker a friend, Abby didn't trust him at all. He was a deacon in the church, and the people of Diablo commended him for how devotedly he had tended his wife before she died, but Abby always felt apprehensive around him. She could never forget that he had once pulled a gun on Brent, or that he was sometimes too familiar with her. She was disgusted by her own subterfuge-she did not like him, and yet, because of their father's friendship with the man, she was forced to be polite to him.
"Mr. Montgomery, if you have come to see Papa, you made the trip for nothing-he isn't here."
Edmund climbed the steps and stopped so near her that she had to step back a pace to avoid colliding with him. "What if I told you that I came to see you?"
Abby stepped back another pace as he advanced toward her. "I wouldn't believe you."
He spoke with a slow Southern accent rather than the clipped drawl of a Texan, and his tone was too soft to suit her.
"It always brightens my life to see you, Abby."
Many people thought him charming, and to be sure he was tall and distinguished-looking, with blond hair that was slightly graying at the temples. But his eyes disturbed Abby-they were a hard, marble blue with no warmth in them at all.
Reluctantly remembering her duties as hostess, she asked, "May I offer you something cool to drink? I'm sure you're thirsty after your long ride from town."
He dabbed at the back of his neck with a snowwhite handkerchief. "It is hotter than usual for this time of year." Shoving his handkerchief back in his pocket, he took her arm and led her toward the door. "Where is everyone?" He looked toward the barn. "Is anyone else around?"
"Yes," she said quickly, not wanting him to think she was alone. "Quince is in the stable with an army officer. I don't know where Brent is, and I suppose Frances must be somewhere in the house, probably in the kitchen."
Edmund reached for the door and held it open for Abby to pass through. "It seems a bit strange that an army officer would visit the Half-Moon." A deep frown creased his brow. "I noticed a couple of soldiers hanging around town this afternoon-I wonder if they are with him."
"I wouldn't know."
He stared down at her, his hand touching and sliding up her arm, his gaze stabbing at her. "You are damp and warm with perspiration."
"No," she said, prickling, "I'm dusty, tired, and sweating." She moved quickly away from him, leading him into the parlor. She offered him a chair, but he went to the picture of her mother that hung over the fireplace; it seemed to be a ritual that Edmund performed every time he came to the ranch. He always stood beneath the portrait and stared at it.
"Did you know," he asked after a long silence, "that I was with your mother when she posed for this?"
"My father never told me that."
"The artist was so taken with Beth's beauty that he gave the painting to her when he had finished it. If any of you ever want to sell the portrait, I'll pay handsomely for it."
Her head snapped up, and she stared at him. "Why would we want to sell my mother's portrait to you?"
Edmund shrugged. "Maybe you'll need the money someday. And she was a beautiful woman; I'd like to have this likeness of her... if you ever do decide to sell it."
"I believe my family would sell the Half-Moon before letting Mama's portrait go. I know I would."
"You never know what you'll do when you're desperate." His eyes turned cold, and his voice dropped in tone. "I want you to remember that we had this conversation."
Abby glanced away from him, wishing she could just leave. Where was everyone, and why did she have to entertain Mr. Montgomery? Swallowing her feeling of uneasiness, she turned toward her mother's likeness. "I wish I could remember more about her," she said, striving to make conversation.
Edmund came up to her, touching her hair and allowing his finger to trail down her cheek. "You are very like her, you know. If you want to remember her, just look in the mirror. Underneath that smudged face you have Beth's features, and you are a temptress just like she was."
Abby knew she certainly wasn't trying to tempt him! She stepped quickly away from his grasping hands. "I need to change before supper. If you want to talk to Quince, I'll get him for you."
He smiled, showing a perfect row of white teeth. "I don't want him. I'd rather talk to you."
She edged toward the door, knowing she had to get away from him. "If you will excuse me, I'll have Frances bring you a cool drink."
He reached for her hand, drawing her back into the room. "No, don't go yet. I have something to tell you."
Abby stiffened; her mind was screaming that this was not right. His hand glided from her shoulder to her arm, brushing against her breast on its way to her hand. The movement was just subtle enough that she could not accuse him of fondling her-she was not sure if he had done it on purpose, or if it had been accidental.
"Why are you here?" she asked, drawing away from him and feeling as though she wanted to wash everywhere he had touched.
I came to tell you about your father."
He eased her closer to him again, and she wedged her elbow between them. "What about Papa?"
He stepped away from her as if he sensed he was making her nervous.
"Your father bought a new horse yesterday morning, and by afternoon he had already entered it in the two-mile race. I told him it was rash to suppose he could win the race when he wasn't familiar with the horse, but he wouldn't listen to me."
Abby felt her heart plummet. "Papa didn't have the money to buy a racehorse. Please tell me you didn't loan him money again, Mr. Montgomery."
"Sure I did." His eyes hardened. "Jack Hunter is my friend."
"Brent and Quince aren't going to like it when they find out you loaned Papa money. You know very well Brent has asked you not to extend Papa any more credit."
Edmund waved his hand dismissively. "Brent is too cautious, and he's too hard on your father, for that matter." He shook his head as if in disbelief. "Anyway, I was happy for your father when his horse won the race, and you should be, too."
She watched his face, afraid to hear the truth, and yet needing to know. "Did he win much money?"
He liked playing mind games with her-first raising her hopes, only to dash them. "Not anything to brag about. It was the starting race of the day the teaser."
"But there was some money?"
"Yes, there was."
"Enough to pay you back for the horse?"
"Not anywhere near that." His mouth smoothed into a straight line as he smiled. "He had just enough winnings to invite all the men to accompany him to the Lone Star so he could buy drinks all around."
Abby's hopes were dashed, and she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was always the same with her father-horse racing was in his blood, and he had no head for business. It was all Brent and Quince could do just to keep the ranch going from day to day, while their father made it harder for them with his gambling and wild buying sprees. hen he
Edmund smiled slightly when-he- saw the misery in Abby's eyes. "Your father was in no condition to come home last night, so I put him up at my place," he said in a pretense of sorrow.
"Thank you for giving Papa a place to sleep," she said, forcing herself to be polite. "But please don't loan him any more money."
"You have to understand, when a friend asks me for help, I give it when I can. That's what a banker does."
"Papa doesn't seem to know what to do with himself since he returned from prison. And he isn't making good decisions. If you were his friend, you would see that."
"Poor Abby." His hand ran up her arm while he stared over her shoulder at the likeness of her mother. "Sweet Abby. I am not only your father's friend; I'm yours, too. I want you to know that you can come to me for anything."
She twisted away from him as she got a whiff of the too-sweet scent of his cologne. She hated the touch of his hand on her, and she could hardly resist the urge to bat it a
way. "I-"
He pulled her back to him, holding her so she could not escape this time.
"Please let me go, Mr. Montgomery."
His hot breath touched her ear. "Call me Edmund-I have waited a long time to hear you say my name."
Abby was about to shove him away when she heard footsteps on the front porch. "That'll be Quince." She was glad when Edmund's hands dropped to his sides. "You can ask him what to do about Papa."
Before he could say anything further, she hurried out of the room, relieved to get out of his reach. She would make certain that she was never alone with him again.
Quince had seen Edmund's horse, so he was not surprised to find him in the parlor. After introducing Jonah to the banker, Quince excused himself so he could let Frances know about their guest and that the family would all be gathering for supper.
Edmund eyed Jonah warily. "Do the two soldiers I saw in town belong to you, Major?"
"Yes, they do." He gave no more information.
"Do they have any special reason to be in Diablo? I heard the troopers were asking a lot of questions," Edmund pressed. "I saw by their insignias that they were with the Sixth Cavalry out of Fort Griffin."
Jonah took an immediate dislike to the man. "No. We are from Fort Fannin."
Edmund's eyes dilated just the merest flicker as he absorbed that bit of information. He watched the young major closely when he asked the next question. "Perhaps you're here to call on Abby," he implied glibly.
"No. Pm not." Jonah moved to the painting; at first he thought it might be Miss Hunter, but the nose wasn't quite right, and the dress was from another era. There was a serenity about the green-eyed woman that Miss Hunter certainly didn't possess.
"Beautiful, wasn't she?" Edmund asked, nodding at the portrait.
"Yes. Is that the mother?"
"That's right she was." Edmund stared into the green eyes that would haunt him for the rest of his life, even from her grave. "Abby's very like her, don't you think?"
"Perhaps, a little."
Edmund's gaze bored into the young officer. "How long will you be staying at the Half-Moon?"
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