She glanced over at the pawing, snorting stallion straining at the rope. He shone almost black in the sun, but the deep red cast to his coat made him a liver-chestnut, her favorite color of Morgan. The long tail nearly dragged the ground, and his cascading mane fell several inches below his arched neck. A strong head with a large jaw and wide-set, liquid brown eyes topped the massive neck. She noted the well-defined muscles in his hindquarters with pleasure. Morgans were bred to haul heavy loads, and this one didn’t look to be an exception. At four years old, he appeared stronger than any she had at the ranch. Maybe her father hadn’t made a mistake—she’d rarely seen the stallion’s like anywhere in the state.
Justin leaned his gloved hands on the pommel of his saddle and smiled. “You like him.”
She turned to meet his level gaze. “Sure. What’s not to like?” She gestured at the milling group. “But we’d better get them back to the ranch. The drovers look to be tired and they’d probably like this herd off their hands.”
Alex drew alongside the wrangler who appeared to be in charge and extended her hand. “Alex Travers.”
The man’s eyebrows rose in apparent surprise and he glanced from her to Justin. “You’re Alex Travers?” He swept his hat off his sweat-drenched hair and tipped his head.
She pursed her lips, too familiar with his reaction to be amused. “Yes. That’s Justin Phillips, one of my hands. I’m Alexia Travers, the owner of the Circle T.” She swung her gaze to the loose horses then raised her brows at the drover. “The mares aren’t haltered.”
He cocked his shoulders back and raised his chin. “Nope. We drug them behind us for miles and they got plumb tuckered out. Figured this close to town we could turn ’em loose and drive ’em ahead of us with no trouble.”
Alex nodded. “We’re only a few miles from the ranch, and I’m sure our cook would be happy to rustle up some dinner.”
“Much obliged, ma’am. The name is Tom Riley.” He jammed his hat back onto his head and beckoned to his companion. “Daniel, we’re taking the horses on to Miss Travers’s ranch and gettin’ a bite of grub before we hit the trail back to town.”
Daniel swung his lasso and turned a mare back into the meadow. “Sounds good. But I wouldn’t mind stoppin’ at the saloon first, if they have one.”
“They do.” Alex gave a curt nod. “Justin and I can take them the rest of the way to the ranch if you decide to stop in town.” She moved forward. It was time to get home.
Alex glanced back once more at Justin and felt an unwelcome stirring. The man knew his job and sat a saddle better than most men she’d known. Not only sat it better, but looked blamed good in it, too. Those long legs and small hips fit neatly into the saddle leather. His broad shoulders and muscular arms swinging the rope at the flank of a mare were dust-covered but hard and fit.
She spurred her gelding and moved back to the rear of the plunging herd. Time to get back to the business of saving the ranch. From now on, she wouldn’t let anything—or anyone—distract her.
Chapter Fifteen
Christy Grey stepped down off her horse and groaned. Her body ached from the thirteen long miles over some of the roughest canyon country she’d ever traversed. Why Sanders hadn’t let her come the long way around on a wagon, she couldn’t fathom. The stagecoach from Auburn to Foresthill had been bearable, but the mule train across the final miles of toll road was downright terrifying.
She reached up for the small bag tied behind her saddle and surveyed her surroundings. Last Chance was a fitting name for this place. The little clapboard town at the end of the road didn’t appear to have much to offer. From her place in front of the Last Chance Hotel, she could see a saloon, a candy store, a barber, and a butcher shop. She turned her gaze away from the saloon. Her occupation would take her to that place of business soon enough.
What appeared to be a blacksmith shop sat on the edge of a meadow with a scattering of cedar and pine trees separating it from the road. On the ride through the short street, she’d counted fifteen homes dotted haphazardly among a few straggling trees. Judging from the abundance of stumps lining the hillside, it appeared that someone with an axe had mowed down anything with timber value.
A sudden high-pitched whine sounded on a hill above the town. She’d heard that noise before—the buzz of a large circle saw cutting through logs to feed the ever-growing need for lumber.
She sighed, picked up her satchel, and stepped up onto the nearby boardwalk. Turning to the man holding the lead pack mule, she asked, “Can you take my trunk off the mule and place it against the wall?”
The burly driver leered at her curly auburn hair and allowed his gaze to slide over her shoulders and hips to the tips of her dust-covered boots, which peeked out from under the hem of a deep green traveling gown. “Sure thing, ma’am. But your boss said you’d want them dropped off at the saloon.”
She stared back at him, holding his gaze until red crept up his neck and he dropped his eyes. “Here will be fine.” She turned on her heel and kept her back to the man, stepping aside as he tossed her trunk against the nearby wall with a grunt. A few moments later, she heard the creak of the boardwalk as his massive weight stepped off the planking in front of the hotel. The crack of the whip and the sound of plodding hooves attested to the team’s retreat. The only passenger on this trip, she’d been forced to rebuff the driver’s advances ever since their stop in Deadwood.
She shivered and pulled her bag close to her side. Sometimes she hated her life and all it entailed. This town wouldn’t be any different from the rest. The townspeople—particularly the upstanding women—would shun her as soon as they found out what she was. Dance hall girls weren’t looked on with kindness, even by those claiming to practice Christian charity. In fact, the religious folk often treated her the worst.
There were many times when she longed for something different, longed for a chance to start over, but she knew no other life. No, she’d do what she’d been told to do and then move on somewhere else.
She’d need to avoid Phillips for a few days until she got established. Her orders had been clear, and she dared not disobey. Too much was at stake.
A young boy thumped down the boardwalk, kicking a pebble before him. Christy held out her hand as he drew near. “Can you help me?”
The boy skidded to a halt and turned wide eyes to meet hers. “Sure. Whatcha need, lady?” He appeared to be about nine years old and not husky enough to carry her trunk.
Maybe she should’ve accepted the mule driver’s offer to drop it at the saloon, but she couldn’t abide the man a minute longer. She’d left more than one saloon whose owner had pushed her to “fraternize” with the patrons. She’d serve drinks, dance with the miners or cowboys, even sing a song when requested, but she’d never allowed a man to take her to his room. Her sister had made that mistake, and she didn’t intend to end up like Molly.
“If I give you two bits, can you find someone to take my trunk to the saloon?”
He stared at her modest traveling dress. “You goin’ to work there? You don’t look like no dance hall girl. You got awful pretty red hair, though.”
She smiled, not minding the compliment from this young admirer. “Yes, I’ll be working there.”
He nodded. “You bet.” He spun on his toe, dashed up the street, and disappeared into what appeared to be the livery stable. A couple of minutes later he reappeared with a huge man in tow.
“This here’s Ralph Peters. He’ll tote your trunk.” The boy held out a grubby hand. Christy placed a silver quarter into it and pressed his fingers around the coin.
“Thank you. May I ask your name?”
“Johnny. I run errands for people. You ever need anything, just holler. I’ll help you out.” He puffed up his small chest and grinned.
“Why, thank you, Johnny. I’ll be sure to do that.” She turned to the big man standing quietly beside the boy. “You’re Mr. Peters?”
A flush crept up the big man’s neck and stained his cheeks. He d
ropped his eyes and twisted the hat clutched in his large hands. “Yes, ma’am, but just Ralph is fine.”
She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Men were such strange creatures. So often they were bold when they discovered where she worked, but occasionally she’d find a shy one like this. Most of them took one look at her and fell over themselves to please her. She wasn’t vain, but she’d been around too many men to be naive about her appearance. “If you take my trunk to the saloon, I’d be happy to pay for your trouble.”
Ralph picked up the heavy trunk, hoisting it easily and carrying it like a child would cradle a favorite toy. “No trouble, ma’am. My pleasure.” He gave her a quick glance out of intelligent, soft gray eyes that shone with a gentle light, and then he turned away.
“I’ll be along soon. If you could please tell the owner that the trunk belongs to Christy Grey. He’s expecting me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ralph called over his shoulder.
She sighed, uncertain of her next move. Would Sanders approach her? Or was she to find him? She had no idea where she’d look. She shrugged.
A tantalizing odor drifted out of a nearby hotel, and her stomach rumbled. A bowl of soup and a biscuit sounded tempting. She drew her valise close to her side and stepped off the boardwalk. Might as well enjoy a few minutes of living like a respectable woman—it wouldn’t be long before word spread that a new saloon girl had arrived.
Chapter Sixteen
Justin sat his horse and drew the sweetly scented air into his lungs. The fragrance of pine and mesquite lingered on his clothing from the ride through the dense stand of scrub, which he and Alex had encountered on their ride to the south pasture.
“This sure is pretty country, Miss Travers.”
Alex nudged her horse and drew alongside his stallion. “Yes, it is.” They rode for a moment in companionable silence. “It’s Alex, by way. No one on the ranch calls me Miss Travers.”
“Alex, not Alexia? It’s a pretty name.”
She shrugged and patted her gelding’s neck. “It’s nice enough, but Papa always called me Alex, and it’s what I prefer. There are a few people who insist on calling me Alexia, whether I like it or not. I don’t mind Martha and Elizabeth using it, but they’re special.”
“I see. Then Alex it is.”
Silence fell again as they moved out of the brush and started across the pasture with Alex once again in the lead. Justin glanced at the woman sitting her buckskin gelding a few yards away. This morning she looked too young to be running a ranch, with her hair pulled back in a braid. The fitted waist, men’s trousers, and tall leather boots rising to the top of slender calves accentuated the slim figure relaxing in the English saddle. He frowned, wondering about that saddle. Most riders in these parts preferred Western saddles to the skimpy, nearly flat English contraptions.
Alex dropped back and drew her horse to a halt next to Justin’s stallion then turned wide, inquisitive eyes his direction. “What?”
He jerked his head. He’d been staring. “Sorry. I’ve been working for you for almost a week, and you always ride that saddle. Just wondering what you see in that pancake.”
Her lips turned up and she chuckled as she glanced at his heavy saddle. “When I know I’ll be herding horses and may have to throw a rope, I use one with a horn—but I prefer this for everyday use.” She patted the spot where a horn should reside. “My father always wondered what I saw in it, too. He told me I’d pitch over my horse’s neck if I didn’t watch out.”
Justin couldn’t restrain a small, answering smile. “So…?”
“I feel more secure in it. I rode bareback for most of my childhood, but when I graduated to a bigger horse, Papa insisted I use a saddle. I saw one in a catalog and begged Papa to buy it. He humored me but placed a bet with Uncle Joe that he’d be selling it after the first couple of rides. I fell in love, and he lost the bet.”
She shifted her weight and patted her horse’s neck. “This is as close as I can get to bareback. I like to feel my horse under me—to be aware of what he’s going to do before he does it and move with him.” She turned away and stared out over the band of horses, not seeming to expect a reply.
Strange as it might seem, Justin did understand. He’d been raised on a horse. His papa had been a wrangler and had ridden with the young Justin in front of him on his saddle since almost before Justin could walk. Horses were in his blood, and he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t include them.
But though he could identify with her at times, Alex was still a puzzle to him. In one moment she seemed too young and feminine to run a ranch, and in the next she’d show a strength and wisdom beyond her years. Most wranglers would balk at working for a woman who insisted on meddling in every aspect of the ranch. Sure, a woman acting as the figurehead after her husband died wasn’t too uncommon, but in such cases, the foreman ran the show. Joe wasn’t healthy, so Alex had little choice. Yet somehow he doubted she’d sit at home and tend to the house even if Joe were perfectly fit.
His thoughts drifted to Molly. She’d been pretty—not stunning, but attractive in her own way, with her large hazel eyes and long, thick hair. He couldn’t see her giving orders to a bunch of men. No sir, she’d needed men to show her attention. Pretty as she was, Molly hadn’t been much of a wife. But at least she’d given him Toby.
He knew he hadn’t been much of a father to Toby, and he shook his head, shame blanketing his emotions. He’d failed in all the ways that mattered most to a man. Years ago he’d believed in the concept of a loving God, but not anymore. He didn’t really blame God, but he felt that his prayers often fell flat.
The sound of a snorting horse roused Justin from his ruminations of the past.
Alex stared at him. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.” He drew a deep breath, wondering how much, if anything, he should tell her. He didn’t want her sympathy. Besides, women often couldn’t be trusted. A pretty face and sweet words wouldn’t fool him again.
She waited a moment, eyebrows raised, and then swung her horse around. “Let’s check the mares and see which ones we’ll bring in to the stallion.”
He nodded and settled his hat more firmly on his head. Work would keep his mind off the past and, hopefully, off the young woman who’d appeared in the present. No telling what the future held, but he could say with a certainty it wouldn’t be Alex Travers. He hadn’t been able to hold his wife’s interest, and he didn’t care to take that risk again.
Work and Toby—those would be his salvation. That and keeping his word to Ben Travers.
Alex loped Banner across the flat grassland toward the grazing herd then pulled him down to a trot. No sense in stirring up the mares and having them bolt. She heard the pounding hooves of Justin’s mount as he swung to circle the mares. Good—she’d rather not be near him at the moment, after what she’d seen on his face.
Pain, pure and simple. Had he been thinking about his wife? Earlier, she’d sensed that he’d begun to relax, and their conversation about her saddle had to be their longest yet. But then he’d closed up again and grown painfully silent.
What made her think this man was different from any others that drifted through their high-mountain town? Sure, he was more handsome than most, and the way he looked in his denim trousers and snug-fitting shirt….
Alex reined in her thoughts but couldn’t help glancing across the meadow to where Justin patrolled the mares. He barely talked, he had a small son, and he was still in love with his wife. With these drawbacks and possibly more, why did she constantly find her eyes drifting his way? Papa had always told her that character mattered most in a man, and what did she really know about Justin’s? Nothing other than his obvious love for Toby.
Her thoughts drifted to the men who’d shown a recent interest in her. Charlie, Walter, and Carter. Her nose wrinkled and she shook her head with a sigh. To be fair, Charlie and Walter were hard-working, dependable young men who’d make a couple of girls fine husbands—but neithe
r of them ignited the smallest spark of attraction in her. Carter? She’d never thought of him in that regard. He’d been courteous—even charming—when he’d stopped by the ranch a few days earlier, but nothing about the man drew her.
It didn’t matter—she didn’t need to marry. Papa had seen to that. As long as the ranch was successful, her future was secure. Sure, many girls were married and expecting their second or third child by her age. But she’d never been like other girls. Maybe that’s why Elizabeth was her only close friend.
She sighed and shifted her weight in the saddle. A shout drifted across on the breeze and she jerked her head around. Justin wasn’t where she’d last seen him on the far side of the herd. She scanned the grassy terrain then let her gaze drift farther back to the edge of the meadow, where the foothills climbed up toward the peaks. A rider stood in his stirrups, waved his arm, and shouted again. Justin. What in the world?
Alex laid her spur to her horse’s flank. He jumped into a lope then moved into a driving canter. Justin swung down off his horse and headed for a clump of brush. Banner plunged into the clearing where Justin had stood. She sat back in the saddle and reined him in, stopping not far away. Something dark and bulky lay under the branches. A movement behind a nearby tree caught her attention, and she noticed a chestnut mare standing on three legs, her head hanging.
The dark form under the brush didn’t move, and Alex sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the still outline of a dark sorrel foal with wide-open, blank eyes.
“What happened? Is the mare hurt?” She swung down, ground-hitched her gelding, and strode over to the silent man standing over the foal.
His raised eyes met hers. “Looks like it could’ve been a cougar. The foal is hamstrung, and something’s been gnawing on his hindquarters. We may have spooked the cat not long after the attack.”
“A mountain lion? They don’t normally trouble the herd with so much game around. We keep the stock close to the ranch house and barn in the winter.” She knelt down to examine the foal. “I hate losing the babies.”
Love Finds You in Last Chance, California Page 12