by Jodi Thomas
Win glanced up from the rocking chair, his injured arm resting in his lap. “Cait?”
She ignored him, intent on her mission. Reaching the corral that held Deil, she lifted the rifle stock to her shoulder and sighted down the barrel at the center of the stallion’s forehead.
“What the hell are you doing?” Win demanded.
His appearance so close startled her, ruining her perfect aim. “Stay back.” She hardly recognized the growl as her voice.
Deil stared at her, motionless, his head held high as if daring her to squeeze the trigger. Cait was more than ready to take that dare.
Suddenly, Win jerked the rifle from her grip and she made a wild grab for it. Stepping back, he kept it out of her reach.
“Give it back!”
“Not until you tell me why you were going to shoot him.”
She made a final attempt to retrieve the weapon, but Win evaded her again. Fury thrummed through her as she breathed heavily. “He’s a killer!”
“I’m not dead.” Impatience made Win’s words curt.
“Pa is!” The truth burst out before she could stop herself. “Deil attacked Pa, trampled him. I dragged him out of the corral before Deil could finish him, but he’d been hurt so badly . . . so badly.” Her breath hitched and she dropped her chin to her chest, unable to bear the sympathy in Win’s eyes.
“The doc did what he could but Pa was bleeding inside and it was only a matter of time. I was going to put down the stallion then, but Pa wouldn’t let me. He said—” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat noisily. “He said Deil was my only hope of holding on to the ranch. He made me promise to send for you to tame Deil.” She finally lifted her chin and met his stunned gaze. “And now Deil almost killed you. He is the devil. He has to be put down before he kills anyone else.”
Win’s jaw muscle flexed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Cait turned away, incapable of facing him as she spoke the words that condemned her. “I was the one who talked Pa into going after the wild horses. I was the one hell-bent on capturing Deil. I was the one who insisted on taming the stallion. If I hadn’t been so stubborn, Pa would still be alive.”
She felt his solid presence at her back. “If your pa didn’t want to go after them, he wouldn’t have. And if he thought Deil couldn’t be tamed, he wouldn’t have tried.”
Cait whirled around to find his face inches from hers. “We shouldn’t have tried, but we did, and now he’s dead.” She glared over his shoulder at the stallion. “And he’s still alive.”
Deil tossed his head and pranced around the corral, muscles rippling beneath his shiny black coat. As much as Cait loathed him, she admired him just as passionately. He was the most magnificent stallion she’d ever seen. How could such a beautiful creature be so evil?
“I wish you would’ve told me this before I started,” Win said wearily, rubbing his brow.
She pursed her lips, unwilling to confess that she’d been shamed by her guilt.
“Very few horses are actually killers,” Win continued, eyeing the stallion. “Even though he trampled your father, I don’t believe Deil is a killer. I’m just going to have to take things slower.”
“You’re crazy.” How could he continue to work with Deil now that he knew the horse’s true nature? “He nearly trampled you, too.”
“I got cocky,” Win admitted. “I figured he was just like all the others. Now I know better. I’ll be more careful. Besides, your pa thought I could break him.”
“Pa was out of his head with pain and fever.”
“Then why did you send me that telegram?”
Cait’s mouth lost all moisture. “I made a promise.”
“And I’m going to keep my end of that promise.” Win glanced at the rifle, then held it out to her. “Can I trust you not to do anything foolish?”
Cait’s desire to shoot the stallion had faded along with her rage and she took the weapon from his hand with a small nod. Her gaze fell to the drying blood on his forearm. “That wound needs to be tended.”
“I’ll take care of it. It’s just a cut.” He smiled and cupped her cheek, brushing her skin with his callused thumb. “Honest.”
Cait studied his hazel eyes, seeing an echo of the sincerity and tenderness that had been there so many years ago. She nodded, afraid if she touched him—even to treat a wound—she’d be forced to confront feelings she’d laid to rest a long time ago. “I have to clean out the barn, then I plan to work with the mustangs.”
“Deil’s mine,” Win said firmly.
“All right.” Cait swallowed her apprehension and stated her conditions. “But if he attacks you again, I won’t be stopped a second time.”
Win nodded somberly. “Fair enough. But I don’t plan on giving Deil another chance to get that close.”
“Pa didn’t either.”
“I’m not your pa.”
Cait recognized the stubbornness in Win’s eyes and knew there’d be no way to talk him out of working with the killer stallion. She only hoped her pa had been right in placing his faith in him.
Because she’d lost her faith in Win a long time ago.
CAIT concentrated on threading the leather traces through the worn harness. Ever since her father’s death, she’d let things go around the ranch, including cleaning and repairing the tack, which had been his job since he had been more patient and skilled. However, she couldn’t tempt fate any longer. Shabby equipment led to serious injuries, sometimes death, if it broke at an inopportune moment. Cait understood the necessity but that didn’t mean she liked the task.
A sweat droplet trailed down her cheek and, using the back of her wrist, she swiped away the irritation and stifled a hiss of pain. She’d started working with the wild mares again two days ago, after Win’s close brush with Deil, and had earned muscle aches and bruises for her labor.
Although she’d told Win she could handle the work, she was beginning to wonder if she really could keep up with the chores. There were a dozen wild mares, two of which were heavy with foals and three that had already foaled in the last month that had yet to be handled. The eight she’d managed to set a saddle on still had hours of training before she’d be able to sell them.
Glancing up from her task, she spotted Win through the crack in the barn doors. She could see him in profile and his lips were moving, but she couldn’t hear his voice. He was probably talking to Deil again.
Ever since Deil had nearly trampled him, Win had done nothing but remain in the stallion’s presence. Sometimes he sat on the top rail; other times he rested his crossed arms on the rail and leaned into it. And every time she’d walked by the corral, Cait could hear Win talking to Deil in his soothing timbre. She usually hurried past, hating how her body responded to the seductive resonance of his low voice.
That hypnotic voice was what made him so different from other bronc busters. He didn’t just slap a blanket and saddle on a horse, then jump on and claw leather. Nor did he whip the animal until it flinched like a beaten dog every time a person came near. No, Win first gained the horses’s trust, ensuring the spirit remained and only its body was tamed.
He’d worked the same magic on her, and his presence here now was a constant reminder of her naiveté and lost innocence. When he’d gone, he’d left a fifteen-year-old to face the consequences of their actions alone. She could never forgive him for that.
Suddenly feeling tetchy, Cait laid aside the harness and stood, stretching her back and shoulders. The popping joints sounded ominously loud in the barn’s silence. She strode outside, determined not to look in Win’s direction. However, her traitorous gaze defied her intentions and fastened onto his denim-clad backside, framed by brown formfitting chaps. A plaid shirt spanned his broad shoulders and was tucked into his narrow waist. His body had filled out in the intervening years, transforming a wiry boy’s body into a man’s lean, rock-hard one.
Cait never could recall the moment when she’d stopped thinking of Win as a bothersome big brother t
o deciding he was the handsomest boy she’d ever seen. She remembered how she’d sought his attention, showing off her roping and riding abilities, but he’d only teased her. He’d finally noticed her when she donned one of her ma’s dresses she’d found in an old steamer trunk.
“Where are you going, Cait?”
She blinked the memories aside and focused on Win, who’d turned to face her. Where was she going? “I thought I’d get lunch started.”
Win squinted up at the sun. “It’s only midmorning.”
Was it that early?
“I’m hungry.”
He chuckled and his eyes twinkled, as if knowing exactly what had been on her mind. Although he’d been able to read her like a well-worn book years ago, she hoped she wasn’t as transparent anymore.
Deil’s whinny startled her, and Cait turned to see a rattletrap buckboard rolling into the yard. A familiar frumpy figure hauled back on the reins, and Cait smiled warmly at the old woman.
“Whoa, you worthless sack of spit,” the woman cussed at her swaybacked mule.
“Good morning to you, too, Beulah.” Cait grinned as she strolled toward the wagon.
Beulah Grisman shook a gnarled finger down at her. “Don’t you be sassin’ your elders, young lady.”
Beulah slapped at her patched and faded skirt, and sent a small column of dust rising from her lap, inciting a raspy cough. She waved a blue-veined hand in front of her face, and her fit subsided. She adjusted her floppy hat, held by a scarf tied beneath her chin, then glanced around and spotted Win approaching from the corral.
Beulah grabbed the double-barreled shotgun in the wagon’s box and aimed it at Win before Cait could explain his presence. “Who’s this varmint?” the old woman demanded.
Although the shotgun barrel didn’t waver, Win didn’t seem to notice. He swept off his hat and met Beulah’s suspicious gaze. “Win Taylor, ma’am.”
Beulah’s lips pursed and her eyebrows beetled. “This Injun a friend of yours, Cait?”
Cait’s mouth gaped. Although she knew Win was part Indian, she’d known him for so long that she didn’t even notice the characteristics he’d inherited from his mother’s half-Cheyenne side. It was just part of who he was. But the way Beulah said Injun told Cait the older woman didn’t see Win the same way. “He’s the one Pa said could gentle Deil,” she replied, then added firmly, “He’s only a quarter Indian.”
From her lofty perch on the buckboard, Beulah spat a stream of tobacco toward Win, narrowly missing his boot. “Ain’t nobody, not even someone like him, can break that stallion.”
“I’m betting I can,” Win said. “My pa was the best and he taught me all he knew.”
“He’s right,” Cait said. Although she didn’t owe Win anything, past loyalties were hard to break.
The white-haired woman studied Win from head to toe, then lowered her shotgun. “He’s got nice teeth, I’ll give him that, and he ain’t too hard on the eyes neither.”
Cait had to admit Beulah was right on both counts.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Win said drolly.
“But that don’t mean I trust you. My ma always said you can trust a purty man as far as you can trust a sidewindin’ rattlesnake.” Beulah continued to eye Win suspiciously.
His eyes twinkled with amusement.
“What’re you doing here, Beulah?” Cait asked, hoping to sidetrack her.
Beulah raised her eyebrows. “We was goin’ into town to pick up supplies, remember?”
Since Cait lived along the route Beulah took into town, they often went in together. “I’m sorry. I forgot today was town day. Why don’t you come in for some coffee while I clean up?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” The older woman stood and gripped the edge of the seat to climb down from the wagon.
“Let me help, ma’am.” Win took hold of Beulah’s elbow.
“I’m old, not crippled,” Beulah muttered, but accepted Win’s help.
Accustomed to Beulah’s cussed independence, Cait was surprised she didn’t shake off Win’s hand. Although Beulah had to be seventy years old or more, her spryness belied her age. Cait had always taken for granted that Beulah would never change, but the years weren’t slowing down for either of them.
“Thanks,” Beulah said grudgingly.
He merely touched the brim of his hat, then turned to Cait. “I’m going back to work with Deil.”
“Be careful.” The words were out before Cait could stop her tongue.
Win smiled warmly and creases appeared at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
He sauntered toward the corral, and Cait couldn’t help but admire his animal-like grace.
“Pull them calf eyes back into your head, girl,” Beulah scolded.
Cait’s cheeks heated with embarrassment, although her body’s uncomfortable warmth was triggered by something she thought she’d never feel again. Especially for him. “He’s an old friend of Pa’s,” she murmured.
Beulah cackled with laughter. “Iffen you think he’s old, you’d best get some spectacles, girl.” She sobered and wistfulness eased the weathered lines in her face. “My husband was as handsome as the day was long, too, but he didn’t have no backbone like that Taylor feller.”
They entered the cabin and Cait poured Beulah a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. Beulah had never talked about a husband, so Cait was fascinated by the glimpse into her friend’s past.
“What happened to him?”
Beulah shrugged. “Got up one morning and he was gone. Skedaddled like some skunk in a chicken coop. Left me alone, without even a young’un.”
No wonder Beulah had understood all those years ago—she’d been left high and dry by a man, too.
“You gonna flap your mouth all morning or you gonna change so we can get goin’ before the sun gets too hot?” Beulah’s characteristic grumpiness returned.
Cait entered the only other room of the cabin and quickly slipped off her everyday shirt, replacing it with a clean blue gingham one. As she buttoned it, she wondered what Beulah would do if she discovered Win was the one who’d driven Cait to accept Beulah’s help all those years ago. Beulah would more than likely give him a piece of her mind, and maybe some buckshot in that fine-looking ass. While tucking in her shirttails, Cait laughed silently at the image that thought conjured. Win deserved that and more for what he’d done to her. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if . . . She curved her arms around her waist as the humor faded.
Cait glanced up and caught sight of herself in the rectangular mirror hung on a nail on the wall. Dark smudges beneath her eyes made her appear haggard. She’d long ago given up on trying to gain the attention of a man, yet the thought of Win seeing her look so worn out made her wonder if he was now glad he’d ridden away that spring morning so long ago.
Loneliness—a constant companion since her father died and, if she was honest with herself, for years previous—ached like a sore tooth. She’d lost her best friend as well as her first lover when Win had left her. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the physical loving, but the companionship she’d missed the most. Not that she didn’t have a woman’s needs, but she could deal better with those than the loss of Win’s friendship. How could she not hate the person who’d made her suffer through hell alone?
“The past is gone. You’ve made your bed and now you have to lie in it,” she said to her reflection. She reached out to touch the mirror’s surface. “Even if it’s a cold, lonely one.”
“What’re you doin’—dressin’ for a ball?” Beulah asked from the other room.
“I’ll be ready in a minute.”
After a careless sweep of her hairbrush, Cait joined Beulah.
“In all the years I knowed you, I never seen you gussy up for a feller,” Beulah commented with a knowing smirk.
Heat filled Cait’s cheeks. Beulah was right. If Win hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have changed just to ride into town to buy supplies. People were accustomed to her unfeminine clothing and wouldn�
�t have looked twice.
“My shirt was dirty,” Cait said, not meeting Beulah’s gaze.
Beulah’s snort echoed in the cabin as Cait grabbed her shopping list.
Outside, Cait found Win standing inside a corner of the corral. It was the first time there was no barrier between Win and Deil since the stallion had tried to kill him. Her heart collided with her throat. “Get out of there,” she whispered hoarsely.
Beulah wrapped her bony fingers around Cait’s elbow. “He ain’t your pa,” the older woman said in a low voice.
“No, but Deil’s already tried to kill him once.”
“I’ve heard tell of Injuns who can talk to horses. That Taylor looks like he may be one of ’em.”
“Maybe, but I’m not leaving while he’s in the corral with that devil.” Cait crossed to the pen and stood there, the block of fear growing in her throat. She forced herself to watch Win, and thought Beulah might be right. Deil’s ears were pricked forward, as if listening intently to Win’s voice, and there didn’t seem to be any murderous intent in the stallion’s stance. Could those previous days when Win had talked until he lost his voice finally be making an impression on the stallion?
Win, keeping close to the rails, neared Cait. “I thought you were going into town.”
“Not while you’re in there with him.”
Win shot her an annoyed glance. “I’ll be fine.”
His words chilled her to the bone—those were the exact ones her father had used. She folded her arms over her chest to hide her trembling hands. She didn’t plan on moving until Win came to his senses.
He muttered an oath and ducked between two rails to join her. “I’m out.”
Relief made Cait light-headed. “And you won’t go in there again until I get back?”
Win’s eyes were shaded by his hat brim, but she could feel his exasperation. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
She swallowed her abating terror. “It will.”
Cait turned and clambered aboard Beulah’s wagon. The older woman took up the reins, and as they drove past the corral, Win gave them a barely perceptible nod.
“He won’t do anything foolhardy,” Beulah reassured her once they were clattering down the road, away from the corral, the stallion, and Win.