“I think we should make a circle,” she said, her left-handed use of her fork awkward as she cut the hot cakes. “See if we can pick up his trail from where I lost him, and then check each one of his regular haunts.”
“We’re going back to the ranch.”
Her hand paused halfway to her mouth. “We can’t go back without Mason.”
“You need to have your shoulder checked by a doctor.”
“I told you I’m fine.”
“You’re a liar.”
Anger flared fast and hot in her eyes.
Damn it, he hadn’t meant it like that but his inner turmoil made the words come out as an accusation. “I saw the bruise on your shoulder,” he clarified roughly. “You’re hurting a lot more than you’re letting on.”
“Mason comes first,” she stated.
“This isn’t open for discussion—”
She slammed her plate down and stood up. “You’re right, it’s not. We both know the horses come before our own comfort, and I won’t have you lose the ranch because of me.”
He frowned as she stalked toward the horse corral. Did she realize what she’d just said? He pulled the frying pan from the fire since he hadn’t even been hungry in the first place. After dumping what was left of the coffee over the flames, then dousing the rest of the coals with a bucket of water, he joined her by the horses.
Regan was bent over, her saddle leaning against her leg as she pulled the left stirrup over the seat. Just when he’d reached the fence, she grasped the horn and straightened to swing it one-handed up onto Prince’s back. He thought she had it, but then it started to slip back. A quick movement with her injured arm to stop it was accompanied by her harsh gasp of pain.
Tripp quickly climbed through the rails and lifted the weight onto her horse’s back. Neither of them spoke as she stepped back while he finished saddling Prince. When he turned around, though, he saw she’d gone back to get his saddle. His jaw tightened. What the hell was she trying to prove?
He took the tack from her before she could get near Lucky. “Stop this right now. You’re going to hurt yourself more. Go pack your things so we can get going.”
“No.”
“We still have time before the end of the month,” he argued. “We can come back out here after you’ve seen a doctor.”
“I’m going after Mason now, with or without you.”
Tripp caught her good arm when she tried to brush past. “What makes you think you have a choice?”
Her spine went rigid. “What makes you think I don’t?”
He tightened his fingers as she pulled against his grip. Mutiny solidified in her violet eyes. When her chin lifted, daring him as only she could, he knew she wouldn’t give in without an all-out fight. Damn woman.
Couldn’t she see he just wanted to make sure she was okay?
Can’t you see she’s more concerned about the horse?
If everything else hadn’t already convinced him she’d changed, her dogged determination would’ve cinched it. A cowboy was nothing without his horse. Mason may not be theirs just yet, but Regan didn’t hesitate to put the stallion before herself.
“Fine,” he snapped, releasing her arm. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll look for Mason until four, then we head back—to the ranch—with or without him.”
Her expression still refused, but he saw a slight hesitation as she considered his offer. No, he realized with frustrated amazement, she was searching for a valid argument.
“That’s as far as I’m willing to give,” he warned. “Otherwise I’ll throw you on your horse right now and head straight home.”
She stared hard into his eyes. His chest tightened as seconds ticked by. Much as he wanted to look away from her penetrating gaze, he couldn’t let her see through his bluff. Of course he’d never force her, but he hoped the implication would be enough to make her see reason.
Finally, she lowered her lashes and turned away. “Deal.”
After she smoothed Lucky’s saddle blanket over the mare’s withers, Tripp lifted the saddle and finished getting the horses ready. Regan met him at the cabin with a sack of sandwiches for him to tuck in his saddlebag.
“I’ll send one of the guys out tomorrow for my things,” she explained when he looked for her gear. “If we find Mason, I don’t want Prince weighed down.”
“Good idea.”
Taking Prince’s reins, she looped them over his neck and reached with one hand for the horn. Tripp stepped up behind her, set his hat on her head, and spanned both hands around her waist. She gave a start of surprise as he lifted her into the saddle, but the moment she was settled, she reached to remove his hat.
“I know about where I lost mine—we’ll get it on the way.”
“Keep mine until then.”
She hesitated, and he prepared for another argument, but then she surprised him with a quiet, “Thanks.”
Of its own accord, his hand lingered, sliding down the length of her jean-clad thigh. Memories of her silky smooth skin sent a flash of heat through him. He stepped forward to give Prince a pat on the neck. “All set, then?”
“I’m waiting on you.”
A rueful grin broke free as he swung astride Lucky. She could drive a man crazy in so many ways.
They rode side by side, moving faster than yesterday since he wasn’t worried about her being tipsy. She didn’t look as comfortable in the saddle as the first day when they’d ridden out here, but she kept up without complaint, even with the temperature climbing higher than previous days.
They stopped once when he spotted the hat she’d lost yesterday while chasin’ Mason, and then it wasn’t long before they reached where she’d dislocated her shoulder. Mason’s trail headed due west. After tracking the stallion for a few miles, Tripp pulled his mare to a halt. “It’s getting too rocky, I can’t be sure which way he went.”
“Cripple Creek isn’t far from here,” Regan said. “Maybe two miles. There’s decent pasture and a water source for the herd.”
“That’s right,” he remembered, looking northwest where the creek was located. “I take it the springs still flow all summer?”
“Yes. And since he was headed in this direction...”
Tripp squinted at the hot sun. Cripple Creek would take them even further from the ranch, but he’d made the deal without stipulations. And now that they were out here, he found he wanted to locate Mason as much as she did. He turned his attention back to Regan. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Still manageable,” she answered.
He held her gaze for a long moment, but she didn’t waver. “Alright then, let’s go. If he’s not there, we’ll take a quick lunch break and keep looking.”
Not far from the creek, Lucky’s head lifted and her ears pricked forward. At the same time, Regan rose in her stirrups as she pointed.
“Look—over there.”
A couple hundred yards on the other side of the creek was Mason’s small herd of mares and foals. A couple of them lifted their heads to regard the newcomers with interest. Having been domestic at one point, the mares were wary, but not fearful enough for flight. Prince let out a whinny, drawing the attention of the remaining mares, and Lucky danced beneath him when a few answered back.
While he and Regan let their horses drink from the clear spring water, Tripp scanned the horses, looking for the large paint stallion.
“He’s not here,” Regan said with disappointment, confirming his conclusion.
“We’ll find him,” he assured her, reining Lucky back onto the creek bank when the mare had finished drinking.
Regan followed his lead as she mumbled, “Yeah, but by four?”
Tripp lifted a shoulder before dismounting. His deadline wasn’t set in stone, but he didn’t want to tell her unless he had to. So far, she was holding up pretty good. He ducked under Lucky’s neck to help her dismount, but she’d already swung her right leg over Prince’s neck to slide down hands-free. She grimaced for a moment when she landed, but q
uickly masked it and turned back to her horse to loosen his cinch.
Tripp bit his tongue to keep from asking about her shoulder and loosened Lucky’s cinch so she could graze more comfortably with Prince. When he turned to hand Regan one of the sandwiches she’d made earlier, he caught her holding her hat with her right hand and lifting her thick hair off her neck with the other, eyes closed as the breeze blew across her skin.
He couldn’t keep his gaze from lingering on her lightly freckled face. When emotion swelled in his chest just watching her, he cleared his throat and asked, “Your hair bothering you?”
Her eyes snapped open, and she dropped her hand back down to grasp the brim of her Stetson. “It’s a little warm,” she said with a shrug, putting her hat back on before taking the sandwich he held out to her.
Warm was an understatement. His shirt was uncomfortably damp under the arms and against his back. “Do you have anything to tie it back with?”
“It’s not a big deal. I’ll live.”
She went to sit in the shade under a small Hackberry tree. Tripp turned back to search his bag, but ended up untying one of the decorative leather strips from his saddle. Over in the shade, he dropped his canteen and wrapped sandwich on the ground as he knelt next to her. When he reached to remove her hat, she leaned back from him with a frown.
“What are—”
He held up the leather strip. “Turn around a second.”
After a brief hesitation, she removed her hat and maneuvered her back toward him. He finger combed the mass of curls, did a quick French braid, and then tied the end with the leather strip. She reached a hand to feel her hair when he was done.
“Let me guess, your friend’s little girl liked her hair braided?”
Tripp chuckled. “Every single day.”
“What was her name?”
“Dawn.”
“Pretty.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, her expression hesitant. “You should look them up when we get back.”
Tripp smiled as he sat next to her with his sandwich. “I was thinking the same thing.”
They shared a moment, gazes connected, before she flipped the braid over her shoulder and focused on the horses across the stream. “Well, thanks. It feels much better.”
He nodded and started eating. After Regan finished her last bite, she asked, “See that paint standing next to the bay mare over there?”
Tripp had noticed the foal the other day. If he kept his coloring, he’d be as pretty as his sire when he got older.
“Your father and I have been waiting for another paint for the past four years.”
“Mason doesn’t throw paints very often?” he asked with surprise.
“Not like Judd had hoped when he bought him. So, last fall, I used money I’d saved to buy Mercy—she’s the bay. You wouldn’t know it to look at her, but her dam is a paint. Mercy threw a couple paints from another stallion and I was hoping to surprise Judd with the foal. Only, he never got to see him. He kept saying he was too busy to ride out this spring, but I suppose he wasn’t feeling well.”
Tripp wondered what his father had gone through those last couple months. Knowing he was dying and not saying a word. He wasn’t so sure he’d ever understand his father’s decision, but right now, it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Instead, he studied the foal’s markings and finished his sandwich.
“I think he would’ve been pleased.”
Her smile was a little sad. “So do I.”
He dusted off his hands and swiped up her hat. Handing it over, he rose to his feet and then offered a hand to help her to her feet. “Let’s go get him.”
They rode across the creek closer to the mares, scanning the ground and surrounding area for any sign of Mason’s large prints. Tripp noticed Regan glance over her shoulder, to the right of the general direction they’d first ridden in.
“What?” he asked, looking back, too.
“I thought I heard a neigh—too far away to be one of the mares.”
He reined Lucky around. They’d come in along the flat land, but to the right was a series of rolling hills and gullies, dotted with scrub pine and boulders. “Let’s ride over there. Obviously, he’s not here. Maybe he got caught up by the rope.”
He didn’t wait for her answer, but heard Prince’s hoof beats behind them as he urged Lucky into a trot. When they reached the first gully, it was just as he remembered. Filled with flash flood debris from when the heavy thunderstorms came through and washed away everything the water could carry.
The horses picked their way through the logs and rocks, and they started up the other side. As Regan drew even with him on the plateau, Prince’s head jerked a split second before the unmistakable sound of a neigh reached Tripp’s ears. He looked at Regan with raised brows as Lucky danced sideways. Regan gave a brief smile and kicked Prince into a canter. Down in the next gully, they slowed their mounts once more.
At the bottom, around a redrock wall, they found Mason’s Gold.
The stallion startled at the sight of them. Then his nostrils flared wide and his ears pinned back. He strained against the rope holding him captive where it’d tangled in a gnarled log and around one of his legs. Regan gasped softly.
Tripp also grimaced at the sight of the stallion’s bloody foreleg, rubbed raw by the stiff fibers of the lariat. He didn’t even want to think of what would’ve happened to this magnificent animal if he hadn’t given in to Regan’s concerns.
“Good thing you’re so stubborn, Princess,” Tripp murmured as he dismounted.
Regan slid from her horse and stood beside him without a word. After a moment of staring at the animal, he unclipped a nylon halter he’d brought along for when he captured the stallion. Mason had settled down again, but still watched them with wary eyes.
“Somehow I have to get close enough to get that rope off,” Tripp said.
“He was tame at one time.”
“Eleven years is a long time.” As if he even needed to remind her.
She took a small step forward. Tripp instinctively reached to hold her back, but her soft voice stayed his protest.
“Hey, boy. Hi, there. You going to let us help you?”
Her low soothing tone kept the stallion calm and after a few moments, she took another step. Mason’s ear flicked. Regan kept talking as she eased closer. Barely daring to breathe, Tripp shadowed each forward movement she made and to his amazement, she got them within ten feet of the stallion.
Just about the time he thought the patient approach might actually work, Mason snorted, lunged forward with his teeth bared, then whirled around to lash out with his hindquarters.
Tripp snaked an arm around Regan’s middle and hauled her back out of reach of the deadly hooves. He registered her cry of pain from the jolt to her shoulder but it couldn’t have been helped.
Mason spun once more to face them, only the rope tangled around his back legs and he tripped himself up as if he’d been thrown during a calf-roping contest.
In a split second, Tripp recognized the one chance they needed. Releasing Regan, he sprang forward and kneeled on Mason’s neck and head, pinning the stallion to the ground. The horse struggled against Tripp and the rope tangling his legs, but Tripp bore all his weight down and held him down.
“Think you can get the halter on?” he called to Regan.
She stepped forward without hesitation, leaning to scoop up the halter where Tripp had dropped it. Talking in that calm, bewitching tone again, she worked awkwardly with her left hand to get the halter over Mason’s nose while avoiding his teeth. Tripp helped as much as he could without losing control over the stallion. Even tired from his earlier struggles against the rope, the horse was strong.
Regan helped hold him down while Tripp clipped the chin strap of the halter to secure it on Mason’s head. Next, Tripp loosened the noose around his neck and carefully lifted one knee at a time to slide the rope free. Still bearing his weight down, he glanced under his arm at the rest of the rope
wrapped around the stallion’s legs.
Now what? Without both hands, Regan wouldn’t be able to untangle the rope on her own. But neither did she have the weight or strength to hold the horse down while Tripp completed the task.
Before he could figure out their next step, Regan pushed to her feet with her good arm and disappeared behind him. He looked over his shoulder in alarm.
“Hey, whoa, what are you doing?”
“Getting the rope off.”
“No! It’s too dangerous for you to do one hand—”
She didn’t listen. Not that he could see what she was doing, but no more than she called out, “He’s free!” Mason began to struggle and thrash.
A second later, after a particularly energetic kick from the stallion, Tripp heard a pained grunt from Regan. He craned his head frantically. “Are you okay? Regan?”
Finally, she stepped into his line of sight, dragging the rope behind her. Limping, damn it. He couldn’t stand the thought of her getting hurt again.
“Can you hold him and help me tie the rope on the halter?” she asked.
He worked with her to secure the rope, amazed she was still going strong. When he was sure the knot wouldn’t come undone during any ensuing battle of wills with the stallion, he handed Regan the rope. She took up the slack and got to her feet.
A quickly masked grimace made him wonder if she was as okay as she kept insisting. Her movements were a little slower than he liked, but it wasn’t possible to take care of her as every fiber of his being urged him to do. Unfortunately, he had to focus on the horse right now and trust her to take care of herself.
“Got it?” he asked. She nodded and he took a deep breath. “Stand back, then. Or—better yet, get up on Prince. It’s time to see what Mason does when we get him back on his feet.”
Chapter 13
Reggie took the end of the rope with the loop and hooked it around Lucky’s saddle horn before commanding, “Back.”
The mare backed up until the line was taught, then halted just as she’d been trained to do. Seeing Tripp’s nod of approval, Reggie turned for Prince, clenching her jaw tight with each step.
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