Читать книгу Gerrity's Bride - Carolyn Davidson, Carolyn Davidson - Страница 10

The rounded flank of the horse shone in the sunshine like warm mahogany, and with each stroke of the currycomb, Emmaline sent dust and loose horsehair flying. It was satisfying work, she decided, this grooming of horses. The sound of soft nickering from the mares and colts in the corral, the scent of hay and leather, and even the more earthy smells associated with the barn, brought back memories she cherished.

An affinity with the majestic animals had been her salvation through her childhood, when her mother had almost abandoned her, languishing in her dark, silent rooms. In the home where her grandparents observed all the rules of proper behavior and struggled to instill them in their reluctant grandchild.

She’d felt an outsider, there in that pillared mansion where guests were greeted beneath a welcoming portico. She’d greeted them herself, more than once, and smiled and talked obligingly with the finest citizens of the county. All in the cause of family. And since the death of her mother, she’d spent ten long years struggling to come up to the standards of the society her grandparents enjoyed.

Her hands slowed as she considered the past, reflecting on the proper behavior, the elegant posturing, the strict rules of etiquette she had adhered to, suffering in the doing. Only her hours spent in the barns had given her escape from the rigid way of life that had ruled her days.

She lifted her head and looked about her, at the wide span of the corral, the open doors of the barn and the flat pasture that was still green from the spring rainfall. Her gaze halted as she inspected the adobe house, which hugged the earth and seemed almost part of it. With thick walls and high ceilings, it held the cool night air long into the daytime hours, and offered a welcome for her that she had felt with increasing depth.

Even the people within those walls had begun to treat her as a part of the household. Emmaline smiled as she considered the sister she had come here to claim.

Theresa had spent half an hour before breakfast practicing her rope skipping, with Emmaline’s willing encouragement. The session had ended with a tentative embrace on the child’s part, and Emmaline had tried to be satisfied with the half hug she received before Theresa scampered off to the breakfast table.

“Out exercising so early?” Matt had come upon her unexpectedly, and she’d wondered for a moment if he’d watched as she took turns with her sister, showing her the fast-paced stepping to the rhythm of the rope as it spun about her body.

She had turned to face him, flushed and still breathless when she met his teasing glance. Irritated at being caught off guard, she’d muttered a hurried excuse and slipped away, aware of her disheveled appearance.

She spent a few moments before her mirror to prepare herself for the morning table. She’d washed her face with warm water and a cloth, and then quickly brushed her hair before she tied it up with a ribbon to match her dress.

At the table, Matt once more had become the man in charge, questioning Olivia, prodding Tessie to eat her breakfast, his earlier lapse into teasing forgotten, it seemed. But the slanting look he cast in Emmaline’s direction as he left the table had been filled with a veiled warmth she hugged to herself.

Now she took it out and examined it, that glance of his. Her eyes slitted against the brilliant sunshine, she brushed contentedly at the side of the horse she tended and wondered at the softening of Matthew’s hard features. His eyes had glowed with some indecipherable emotion that dwelled there, just behind his shuttered gaze.

Her arm kept up the steady movement as the horse edged closer, his own eyes closed as he welcomed her attention.

“I swan. You’re spoilin’ that critter, Miss Emmaline,” said Claude from the barn door, where he watched. “Ol’ Brownie’s never had it so good in his life, since you started ridin’ him.”

Emmaline grinned. The lazy teasing of the man behind her, combined with the prospect of a long ride in the morning sunshine, pleased her immensely.

“I like grooming him,” she answered, finishing her task with a final flurry about the neck of the gleaming animal, bending to step to the other side as she brushed. One hand rubbed at his velvet muzzle with affection.

“Well, he’s never had so much attention in his young life, and he’s just eatin’ it up.” Claude tipped his wide-brimmed hat back as he surveyed the scene before him.

He watched as Emmaline flicked the blanket onto the pony’s back, then lifted the saddle to swing it into place. She hesitated and lowered it, taking a breath as she once more prepared to hoist it. It was heavier by far than the small riding saddle she had used in Kentucky. And when she rode sidesaddle with the larger horned version, her mount had always been prepared for her.

“Here, let me do that,” Claude said, quickly dropping the halter he’d been holding and hustling over to where she stood. His hands reached out to grasp the heavy saddle and take it from her hands.

She relinquished it readily and brushed her palms against the leather of the riding skirt she wore. Once more the soft texture of the garment caught her attention, and she looked down at it, appreciating the gesture of the gift. The thought brought a flush of color that ridged her cheeks as she recalled the hours she had spent with Matt that day.

She would ride alone this morning, always within sight of the house and barns, she had promised at the breakfast table. Matt would be working with horses in the corral, unable to join her. She watched as Claude tightened the cinch and dropped the stirrup into place, ready for her to mount.

Leading the horse, one hand on his bridle, she walked with him until she lined him up with a mounting block Claude had placed for her use next to the barn. She could manage without it, but the gesture had pleased her, and she knew he watched as she stepped up onto it, smiling in his direction in silent thanks.

The horse edged away as she put her weight in the stirrup, and she spoke quietly to him, swinging her other leg over the saddle and gathering the reins into her left hand.

Like a demented animal, the cow pony flung his head back and snorted, then bowed his back and kicked out with his hind legs. His loud whinny rang out, and then, in a surprise movement that had her clutching at the saddle horn and dropping the reins at the same time, he leaped with all four legs off the ground, slamming once more against the hard sand, jarring her teeth together.

“Whoa...whoa there, Brownie!” Claude’s hoarse voice rang out in near panic as he watched the young woman clinging for dear life to the animal she rode.

From the corral, three men came running to the scene, Matt Gerrity at the front, his booted feet eating up the ground in long strides, his eyes focused intently on the drama before him.