In His Kiss: Blemished Brides, Book 4

by Peggy L Henderson

  Don’t be silly. Why would you want to seek him out?

  Truth was, she’d spent a lot of time thinking and pondering about what she’d witnessed the other day. She hadn’t quite found the nerve to ask Uncle John about the horse, or the wrangler. Even though he’d been too far away to make out his features, he had looked directly at her when she’d stood by the window, watching him and the horse. That same flutter of excitement she’d felt that day returned.

  Her feet carried her to the round pen. When she stood where the man had been talking to her uncle and the short man, she turned around to look back at the house, and to her bedroom window. There was an unobstructed view from this location, but it didn’t seem like a place someone’s eye would be drawn to for no reason. Ellie shook her head at the odd notion that the man had somehow sensed that she’d been standing at her window watching him.

  Ellie opened her sketchbook. Yesterday afternoon, she’d sat at her bedroom window, looking out through the rain to this very spot. She’d drawn the barns and other buildings, as well as the round pen. From memory, she’d added the horse running in the pen and the wrangler standing in the center. If only she could have done her sketch from where she stood now.

  The sound of hoof beats pounding the ground made her look up and close her book. Several men on horseback shouted and whistled as they came galloping toward one of the buildings. Horses in the nearby pens moved around nervously, settling down once the riders were out of sight. The familiar sound of a blacksmith banging on iron enticed her to move toward the barns.

  Horses loafed in the pens she passed. Ellie stopped to touch the nose of one curious horse that hung its head over the top rail and whinnied a greeting. The horse’s companion came up beside it and crowded the other one, asking for attention. Ellie smiled as she rubbed her hands along each horse’s soft muzzle. The horse that moved in the far corner of the next corral caught her eye.

  The horse paced along the fence of its enclosure, its neck held high and proud. He bucked and ran around in a circle, then continued his pacing. Ellie approached the pen. This horse was different from the others. He was tall and slim. The muscles along his chest and shoulders, as well as down his backside, were well-defined. Her eyes widened and she smiled. This was the same horse she’d seen the other day.

  The horse appeared to be ignoring her while she stood by the fence. Only once had he turned his head to look at her, but his ears told a different story. Twitching back and forth, he kept the right ear, which was the one closest to her, back and honed on her, while his left ear pricked forward and focused on something beyond the pen.

  Ellie stood by the fence.

  What a magnificent animal.

  She opened her notebook and began her sketch. She’d drawn many of the horses at Fort Peck, but this horse required a special kind of attention. Her pencil captured the spirit in the horse’s eyes, the way his nostrils flared, and the proud lift of his head and tail. By the time she was done, the horse had stopped pacing.

  Ellie leaned closer to the fence, meeting the horse’s stare from the other side of the pen. He was facing her squarely now, lowered his head, and blew air through his nose. The sun reflected off his copper coat, making it shine like a newly minted penny. He shifted his shoulder as if to move away. Ellie dropped her gaze. Perhaps he didn’t like the way she stared at him.

  Her eyes widened when the horse walked across the pen toward her. He stopped several feet from her and the fence that separated them. He stuck his nose forward enough for her to reach out to him, as if asking her to touch him.

  Ellie leaned through the fence, admiring the beautiful horse. She ran the palm side of her hand down her face, then touched it to her chest and slowly held it out to the horse. Her fingers made contact with his soft muzzle, then she ran her palm up along his head until it rested just between his eyes. Her mouth widened in a smile. She leaned in further to get closer to the horse. Perhaps she could climb through the fence.

  No sooner had the thought occurred when a dog barked behind her. Startled, Ellie pulled back, ducking out between the two fence rails. The horse raised his head and snorted softly. His ears pricked forward, looking at the shaggy, gray and black dog that stood behind her, wagging its tail. He had the appearance of a wolf, but wasn’t quite as large. The dog barked again, his eyes clear and bright, and his mouth open and panting. It almost looked as if he smiled at her.

  Ellie reached into her pocket and pulled out the biscuit she’d brought from the kitchen. She knelt to the ground, broke off a piece, and held it out to the dog. The mutt hesitated, then eagerly accepted her gift. He sat in front of her, his tail dragging against the ground behind him as it continued to wag. She offered him another piece of biscuit and sank fully on her haunches to lean against the fencepost.

  As if on cue, the dog lowered himself to the ground as well. Ellie patted his head and reached for her notebook. She turned to the next blank sheet of paper, and began her sketch of the dog. Like a model, the dog lay perfectly still.

  After completing her outline of the dog’s body, Ellie focused on the eyes. The eyes were the most important part of a good drawing. She studied this dog’s brown eyes, which looked at her with a bright and intelligent shine to them.

  Once she’d captured what she wanted with her pencil, she moved on to fill in little details about the animal’s fur. She’d nearly completed the tail when the dog suddenly sprang to his feet and spun around, growling. Ellie’s gaze lifted to see what had alarmed the dog. A shadow hovered over her.

  “Well, what have we got here?”

  Two men strode toward her, their spurs jingling as they approached. Ellie’s eyes widened and she dropped her sketchbook, scrambling to get to her feet.

  “Ain’t seen you around here before, pretty lady,” the other man chimed in.

  Both men wore wide smiles that looked more like leers, which conjured up images in her mind that she’d long buried. Her heart began to pound in her chest.

  Ellie braced her back against the fencepost. Her eyes darted to the ranch house, which stood a good hundred yards in the distance. One of the men moved closer to her. He placed his hand against the railing next to her head, and casually leaned his hip into the fence.

  Ellie shifted away from him, but the other man had moved to her other side, blocking her from leaving. The dog growled louder. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised and his tail stood stiffly in the air.

  “I’ve about had it with you, you dirty mutt.” The man closest to Ellie reached for the gun at his belt.

  In the next instant, before she’d had the chance to blink, something whirred through the air, close enough to her head to send a slight breeze against her ear. The man next to her cursed loudly. Ellie gasped, then flinched. The hilt of a knife vibrated in the wooden fence rail not more than an inch from her head. Blood dripped from the man’s hand. He dropped his gun and clutched at the hand that appeared to be pinned against the post by the knife. The dog barked and growled at the other man. Everything happened so fast, she barely had time to comprehend what was going on.

  “I told you what would happen if you threatened to draw your gun on my dog again,” someone drawled.

  Ellie didn’t dare move. She stood between the two men while the third strode up to them. With a murderous gleam, his dark eyes darted from the man who had blocked her escape to the other one who still cursed angrily next to her. She froze when his gaze rested upon her. She gulped, fighting for a breath.

  Three men surrounded her, and there was a corral behind her. She had nowhere to go. Her head throbbed in tune with the fierce pounding of her heart. Her mother’s screams echoed in her head. Ellie raised her hands to protect her neck and chest.

  Her eyes lifted fully to the man who’d nearly killed her with the knife. He was dressed like any other man, wearing blue denims, chaps, and a tan shirt, but his skin was a shade darker, and black hair poked out from under his hat. He was at least part Indian, the same man she’d seen two days
ago with the horse. A puzzled look passed through his eyes as he stared at her.

  “You’d best get back to the house, Miss.” His voice was deep and commanding, yet with a much gentler tone than when he’d spoken a moment ago. He spoke perfect English.

  Ellie blinked. She shook her head to let the words he’d said sink in, having momentarily lost leave of her senses. She didn’t hesitate another second, and ran. She didn’t have to look at him to know that the Indian’s eyes were on her as she passed him. It was more of a feeling, the same feeling that had swept over her when he’d stared at her across the distance a couple of days ago.

  Chapter Four

  Lance kept his eye on the man standing by the fence as he strode toward the corral. It took every ounce of willpower not to turn his head and stare after the girl who’d just rushed past him. A soft, floral scent lingered in the air. The raw fear in her eyes when she’d looked at him shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’d received similar reactions from women most of his adult life. What was written in her eyes, however, was different. Stronger. Not like the simple looks of disdain he’d endured so often.

  Who could blame her? This had been the first time he’d actually done what white people feared he’d do to them – he’d hurled a knife straight at her. He’d missed her pretty face by a mere inch, but he wouldn’t have thrown the blade if he’d thought for a second he’d injure her or worse.

  Hopefully she’d realized he hadn’t meant her any harm and that his intended target had been the scum who stood by the fence at this very moment, howling like a sick heifer. Regardless, he might be out of a job once Patterson found out. The boss was currently miles from the ranch, but as soon as he returned, his niece would probably complain about what had happened.

  Hank continued to curse and howl while clutching his hand. Blood dripped from the side of the cowpoke’s fingers where the knife had sliced into the web of skin between his thumb and first finger. No doubt it would hurt for a while, but there would be no lasting damage.

  Lance didn’t have to see the wound to know his knife had found its mark exactly where he’d intended. The man deserved it, not only for wanting to shoot his dog but also for his rude behavior toward the girl.

  “Stop your howling. You’ll live.” Lance stepped up and removed his weapon from the fence post. Might as well play the part of a blood-thirsty Indian for better effect. He pointed the blade at Hank’s face, staring into the man’s hate-filled eyes. “This time.”

  Hank flinched and backed away. Holding back a smirk at the coward’s reaction, Lance wiped the blood from his knife on Hank’s shirt, then stuck it in the leather sheath at his hip. Hank’s companion, Fred, took a step back when Lance turned his gaze on him.

  “I’d keep my hand away from that gun,” Lance warned. “My dog don’t like guns. He’ll be at your throat before you have the chance to draw.” Next to him, Mahto growled louder. Fred’s fingers inched away from his belt.

  “You’re gonna regret this, Injun,” Hank spat. He swiped at the sweat on his forehead, then backed away some more.

  “Not as much as you’re going to regret bothering Mr. Patterson’s niece, I suspect.”

  Lance glanced from one man to the other. Both their eyes widened slightly. The two clearly hadn’t thought about who the girl might be when they’d decided to bother her. All they’d seen was a nice-looking female, and they’d descended on her like vultures on a carcass.

  “What’s he going to say when he finds out that you behaved disrespectful and acted as though she might be one of the loose women you visit in Elk Lodge?”

  “We didn’t do anything, Injun,” Fred snarled. “We was bein’ polite to the lady when you nearly scalped her and missed.”

  Lance smirked. “I didn’t miss. You’d be short a finger right now if your hand hadn’t been so close to the woman’s head. I wanted to spare the lady a sight like that.” He nudged his chin toward Hank’s hand. “I suggest you stick that in some salt water and wrap something around it.”

  Hank spat tobacco on the ground. “I ain’t taking advice from the likes of you. And I sure ain’t gonna forget this. You turn your back to me just once, and you’re as good as dead.”

  With those words, Hank strode off toward the bunkhouse, clutching his hand. Fred glowered for a second longer, then followed his companion. Lance stared after them. No doubt his troubles with those two cowpokes had only gotten worse.

  The flutter of paper drew his attention to the notebook lying on the ground under the corral fence. He hesitated, then reached for it. The girl had dropped it when those two lowlifes had come along and interrupted her.

  Lance stared at the page that lay open to his view. The eyes of his dog stared back at him in black and white, as if Mahto had jumped onto the page. He glanced at his dog sitting patiently at his feet. The likeness was flawless. Details were missing on the tail, but the head and face appeared as if she’d captured Mahto’s spirit on the page with her pencil.

  He looked up, his gaze drifting to the house, then to the second story. That’s where he’d seen her standing by the window two days ago, after she’d arrived. He’d looked in that direction when John Patterson and Stubbs had been talking to him.

  Patterson had mentioned to Stubbs in Lance’s presence that his niece, Eleanor, had come to visit, and that she would be staying until her father concluded some business in Kentucky. That had at least satisfied his curiosity as to who she was. It didn’t, however, explain why she’d seemed so uncomfortable. If she was, perhaps, a city girl and didn’t like the thought of staying on a ranch, why hadn’t she gone with her father?

  Lance shook his head. Why even ponder these questions? He focused on the drawing of his dog again, then flipped to the previous page. Before him was the likeness of the colt he’d been training for the last two weeks. His eyes went to the pen where the horse stood, looking at him expectantly.

  He’d seen Miss Eleanor earlier when she’d come out of the house and headed for the barns and when she’d stopped at the colt’s enclosure. She’d looked more at ease than she had two days before, perhaps because she was alone and not in her aunt’s company.

  Lance had only met Fiona Patterson once. While the other men liked the boss’ wife and she was cordial with them, often bringing better food to the bunkhouse than what the cook there served, she’d never spoken directly to him. In fact, she’d avoided him like so many other white women he’d encountered in his life.

  Lance studied the drawing before him. Miss Eleanor certainly had an extraordinary gift. For some reason, she intrigued him, perhaps because he’d seen her discomfort when she’d arrived. No one else had seemed to notice her stiff posture that day. He’d always had the ability, even as a young boy, to observe animals and understand their body language. People weren’t much different to read.

  It was the reason why he was good at training horses. Communicating with them was easier for him than talking with people. Most folks didn’t understand what he could do with horses because they tended to talk too much, and didn’t take the time to look and listen.

  His grandfather had seen it as a great gift, and encouraged him to observe everything around him. That had all changed when he’d been sent away to the white man’s school. Lance tensed, forcing aside the memories of being removed from his grandfather’s lodge at the reservation. It had been the summer of his thirteenth year when he’d been told he could no longer live as a Lakota.

  The only white man who’d understood him and what he did with horses had been Tyler Monroe. Tyler had learned the language of the horse and communicated with them in a similar way. He’d been the one to teach Lance how to apply that gift to training horses.

  Perhaps he should have remained at the Double M Ranch after he’d declined Tyler’s offer to become his foreman. Even if he had stayed on as a wrangler, the possibility that Tyler might have asked him at some point to deliver horses to the army had prompted him to finally leave.

  When John Patterson returned home
later today and found out what had happened to his niece, it could very well be the end of his job at the Circle P. No one would believe that he hadn’t meant to hurt the girl. Hank would spin his tale to make it appear as if Lance had tried to attack her. She’d more than likely back up the story. She’d definitely been scared when she’d run back to the house, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than the knife he’d thrown that had her running like a flighty filly.

  Lance looked at the drawing again. Miss Eleanor seemed to have the same affinity for animals as him. The colt had sensed it. The horse had never approached anyone except him before, and then only after days of working with him. Yet the colt had walked up to her and let her touch him. From where Lance had stood when he’d watched her lean her upper body through the middle two fence rails, he’d almost thought he’d seen her use . . .

  Mahto let out a bark. Lance looked down at his dog wagging his tail. Even the dog had instantly gone to the girl.

  “Feeding you might have had something to do with it.”

  Lance smiled and patted the top of his dog’s head. Mahto gazed up at him, his mouth open as he panted, giving him the appearance that he was smiling. The dog had been his closest companion since he’d been forced from his mother’s people. He’d saved Mahto’s life when he’d bought him from a traveling trader. The man would have fed the part-wolf pup to a bear he’d kept on a chain.

  “I suppose we should return this.” Lance gripped the notebook in his hand. He glanced toward the house. “And apologize for putting a scare in her.”

  He could simply hold on to it until John Patterson returned, or even his wife. She’d left the ranch early this morning in the buckboard.

  “The pretty lady probably wants this back, though.”

  Mahto barked, as if agreeing with him. Whether she’d open the door when he came knocking was another matter. Lance shrugged. Only one way to find out.