Читать книгу Branded Hearts - Diana Hall - Страница 10

Kit yanked her misshapen hat from the outstretched hands of a bug-eyed cowpoke. She stuffed her hair back into the crumpled crown, curbing her desire to rub her pulsating backside. Her legs trembled and her joints ached, but now was not the time to show weakness.

Inside, rampant emotions screamed at her to back down and run away. She set her features into a mask of calm, buried the fear and confronted the scowling face of Garret Blaine. “Where do you want us to livery our horses?”

The rancher’s green stare ripped into her with the fury of a dust devil. Just above his left eyebrow, a starburst scar whitened. A warning of his anger. He pushed up his shirtsleeves. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull—”

“My brother and I want the jobs we earned.” Kit way-laid the rancher’s argument. Two years of searching had worn her patience thin and callused her determination. There would be no backing down. The ranch was perfect for their needs. Quiet. Out of the way. With a sizable head of prime livestock.

“You and I both know I’d never hire a woman.” He spit out her gender like an insult. “Ride out.”

Garret Blaine didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was dealing with. There would be no retreat. She looped a rope through the exhausted black’s halter.

“What the hell are you doing?” Garret’s deep baritone voice reverberated against the barn wall and echoed in the shocked silence of the ranch. A three-legged dog hopped toward her, his teeth bared.

“Getting my pay.”

The old dog growled at her. Kit growled right back, baring her teeth and wrinkling her nose. The dog cocked his head to the side, raised one tan eyebrow, then the other, and tried another growl. Kit answered, her growl deeper and a shade more menacing. The dog backed off.

Her brother edged closer. She pretended not to see his signal for retreat.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you steal my horse?” Garret widened his stance, his lip curled into a one-sided smile. He crossed his arms across his broad chest, just under where his shirt fell open. The timbre of his full voice deepened. “We hang horse thieves.”

His threat rolled off her like water down oilcloth. All her emotions froze into a thick icicle of stubbornness. Narrowing her eyes, she dripped sticky-sweet sarcasm. “You promised us a job if one of us rode the black. Now you’re welching on the deal. I’m taking the stallion as payment.”

Cade cracked a wide grin. “The black did get ridden. And it’d be cheating to back out of a deal.” The younger, less intense Blaine snickered as he faced his brother.

“Shut up, Cade.” Garret’s tone shifted from furious to logical. “There’s no place to keep her.”

His objections made her sound more like a flea-riddled cur than a person. Keep her! The gall of that man. In Boston, a snap of her fingers and men would line up to escort her to the opera or symphony.

But Garret was far removed from those eastern gentlemen. Not a spare ounce of fat on his body. Lines etched the corners of his eyes, created from hours of riding into the hot western sun. Rugged muscles bulged along his upper arms, built from wrestling steers and creating his homestead. His gaze penetrated her, sapping her strength with its intensity. Garret Blaine was a desert. Bleak, formidable, relentless.

Her brother remained silent, but Cade gave her a wicked grin. Amusement twinkled in the cowboy’s eyes. “There’s the tack room in the barn.”

Kit pressed her point. “A job or the horse, it’s your call.” It was an empty ultimatum. One word from Garret, and she and Hawk would be facing down a half-dozen guns. Her challenge lay in the code of the West, where a man proved his worth by the strength of his word.

Flecks of green serpentine sparked in the ranch owner’s eyes. “You want a job? You got a job. For as long as you can stand it.”

“Whoo-ee!” Cade slapped his hat against his leg and danced a little two-step, creating dusty whirlwinds to coat his jeans. “The little lady got the best of Garret Blaine.”

Nervous laughter snared the cowhands as they gave the boss a sidelong glance. Garret’s sudden acceptance of the situation threw Kit off kilter. A man didn’t survive the harshness of the West by giving in. No, Garret Blaine didn’t strike Kit as a person who would concede defeat easily, but then, neither would she.

“You can livery in there.” Garret directed her toward the long, peaked stable.

A trickle of warning snaked down her spine and settled in the small of her back. The glacial tone in her new employer’s voice did not bode well. She could almost smell the man’s intense disgust with her and her brother.

Unhooking the lead, she freed the black. The horse nuzzled her hand and gave her a sympathetic look before trotting to the far corner of the corral. Kit squared her shoulders and followed the shadow of the tall cowboy.

Garret slid the hinged door to the right. New wood and fresh straw perfumed the barn. Horses whinnied and a challenging neigh came from the stalls as Hawk led his buckskin and her Appaloosa mare down the narrow aisle. Half of the twenty stalls were filled with horses and mustangs.

In the last one, a fine-boned mare paced, her belly distended from pregnancy. A tight collar of sheepskin circled her throat to keep the fidgeting horse from cribbing. Catching the scent of the strange horses, the mare kicked at her stall and neighed.

Kit heard the agitation in the mare’s call. High-strung and nervous, not a good combination. When it came time for her to drop her foal, that mare was bound for trouble. “Best build yourself a stanchion for this one.” She pointed toward the pregnant mare.

“Leave the mare to me,” Garret barked. He pointed to the empty stalls. “Bed your horses here.”

Kit led her mare into the narrow space and unsaddled her mount. Too stubborn to take good advice, she thought. Let him learn the hard way.

Heaving her saddle onto the wooden shelf, she grabbed a handful of straw and gave her horse a rubdown. The time gave her the opportunity to study the sulking ranch owner.

He folded his arms, constructing a thick wall of sinew and muscle across his chest. The top button of his faded cotton shirt was missing, exposing a sleek V of tanned skin. Worn jeans strained at the seams near his thighs. Blunt-tipped cowboy boots completed his attire. Typical cowhand. But Garret Blaine didn’t strike her as typical.

The past had made her wary of men, except for her brother. Panic knotted her stomach when a man ventured too near. Only Hawk knew the tremendous effort it took for her to face down the rancher. But now, since she knew he would honor his promise, her stomach relaxed, and she didn’t have to concentrate on governing her alarm.

Grabbing her saddlebags, she asked, “Where do we bed down?”

Garret steered her to a small room. The leather-hinged door swung open. Squaring her shoulders, she entered.

She sneezed. She sneezed again. Dust tickled her nose. An overpowering smell of horses and oiled leather clogged the air. One curtainless window allowed light into the narrow room. It was hardly larger than one of the saddles, and saddles and tack blocked most of the free space. A cot with a straw mattress lined the far corner.

Fur brushed her leg. The ranch dog rushed past and jumped on the bed, nesting the few blankets before lying down. Obviously staking out his territory.

Not the Revere House in Boston, but at least it would keep out the snow and be warmer than the cold ground. The door would have to stay open for any kind of air circulation, but she wasn’t worried. Her brother possessed the light sleep of a hunter and the long months on the trail had taught her the same. The dog would have to go.

She dropped her saddlebags. Her aching shoulders thanked her. The ride on the black and the argument with Garret had consumed her stamina. “Come, brother, we can move these boxes and—”

“This is where you bunk.” The scowl on Garret’s face deepened. “Your brother sleeps in the bunkhouse.” Through the open window he pointed to the building on the opposite side of the house.

Hawk pounced forward like his namesake. “I will not leave my sister.” His eyes blistered with anger.

Despite her brother’s murderous look and powerful build, the ranch owner remained cool. “If you don’t like the arrangement, you’re both welcome to leave.”

“I’ll be fine. Really.” She placed a gentle, restraining hand on her brother’s arm. “We’re staying.”

Whispers and snickers sounded behind her. The Rockin’ G cowboys gossiped with the enthusiasm of old women, but with the intentions of lecherous cronies. A woman alone sounded like easy prey for a cowhand eager to relieve the thickness in his jeans.

From her hip, she pulled out a long Indian knife. She held the blade in the sunlight. A rainbow of color appeared along the tip and across the silver steel.

“I’m no prairie dove. See your cowhands are aware of that or they might find themselves nursing an injury.” Burning hatred heated her voice, her message loud and clear. If attacked, she knew how to protect herself.

The knife slid into the butter-soft sheath. Moisture filmed her eyes as her fingers traced the intricate beadwork on her belt. Hawk’s wife had labored hours over this gift. Hours filled with love and laughter. Hours that would never be again. Kit drew strength from the rising pain in her soul. There would be no surrender, no running home to hide with her father.

“Don’t worry about my wranglers.” Garret eyed his men. “No woman, no matter who or what she is, comes to harm on the Rockin’ G.” Bitterness sliced through his tone.

The tight circle of cowhands widened, as though the rancher’s words had constructed a fort between Kit and them. A sense of safety comforted her.

“If you two are working for me, then get a move on. We’re wasting daylight.” Challenge rang in Garret’s tone.

He wanted to hear her complain, to whine. When pigs fly. It didn’t matter that her muscles screamed with every movement. That her knees had the consistency of hot molasses. That the lumpy bed with the fleabag dog looked inviting. Kit slapped an overeager smile on her face and met Garret’s daring stare. “We’re ready.”

“I’m not paying you men to stand around,” Garret shouted as he marched from the barn.

Cowhands grabbed tools and spread out to complete the day’s tasks. Cade sauntered over to the hitching post and watched the working men from beneath his lowered brim. Blaine also noticed his brother and made a beeline for him. Kit hesitated, then followed with Hawk at her side.

The younger man looked up, ignored his older brother’s get-out-of-here stare and reached out his hand. He pumped first her hand, then, without hesitation, Hawk’s. That one unconscious motion made her warm to the handsome cowboy. Many men would never consider shaking the hand of a half-breed.

“Kit O’Shane.” A genuine smile tugged at her lips. The man’s good humor lessened the tension. “And you’ve already met my brother, Winterhawk.”

Cade slapped her brother on the back. “You two won me a sizeable grubstake for my next poker game. You play cards?” A gambler’s joy lit his soft blue-green eyes.

“No.” Hawk dashed the cowboy’s hope as he hefted his saddle and bags onto his shoulder. He headed off to-ward the bunkhouse. Kit started to follow.

“No, you don’t.” Garret’s firm hand clamped down on her shoulder and held her in place. A shiver of protest and abject fear shook her tired muscles and made her groan.

Her brother dropped his bags. His lion-claw necklace clinked a warning. The look of savagery on his face took Kit’s breath away.

“Hawk, don’t,” she pleaded. It took all her concentration to dominate her erupting panic.

Unperturbed by Hawk’s threatening glare, her new boss lightened his grip. His fingers tangled in her hair, then moved across the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

He’s not out to hurt you. Not after that warning in the barn. The knowledge deadened her fear and opened the door to a different emotion. His touch caused a strange tingling sensation down her neck and across her throat, erasing the cold terror. Warmth smoldered in her like an old campfire.

Garret’s voice sounded hoarse as he issued orders to her brother. “You and Cade can round up the herd from the east pasture.”

Turning to her, he fixed his gaze on her face. “The tack needs to be completely cleaned, every bridle, saddle and halter taken apart, oiled and put back.”

“Come on, Garret,” Cade complained. “Kit deserves a rest after that ride.”

“Hope not, because she needs to muck out the stables and start cutting a cord of wood.”

“Kit’s a horse trainer, not a stable hand.” Hawk’s sharp voice added to the tension.

“She’s what I make her,” Garret shot back. “If she doesn’t like the work, she can quit.” A crafty smile slanted across his lips as he disclosed his plan. “You’re free to leave when you want. I expect it’ll be soon.”

Compressing all her fear and her anger into a tight lump in her heart, Kit met his gaze without flinching. “Only time will tell, Mr. Blaine, which of us lasts the longest.”

Annoyance hovered in his eyes. The scar on his temple blazed. Kit thought a lightning bolt might come from his head like the Greek god Zeus. “A week. And you’ll be lucky to last that long.”

Smugness she had learned at her father’s knee. Haughtiness at her Boston finishing school. Kit drew herself to her full height, dismissed the fact that Garret still stood a head taller and gave her chin a regal lift. “Then we’ll be discussing this issue again, Mr. Blaine. At the end of the week.”

Garret swore, pivoted on his heel and entered the cedarsided cabin. The plank door jumped the hinges from the force of his slam.

Cade stamped the ground with one foot.

“What are you doing?” Hawk asked.

“Putting out sparks.” Cade gave her a saucy wink. “I figure the lady here and Garret done kindled enough to start a range fire.”

Amazement hit her full force when Hawk bit his lip to keep from smiling. Her brother hadn’t found life amusing in a long time.

Kit combed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He’s got Blacks, Mexicans, Johnny Rebs and Bluecoats all working here. Why not us?”

“He’s got this bur in his bonnet about getting a contract with the army. And there’s this big-mouthed sonofa…Excuse me, ma’am.” Cade gave a two-fingered salute to the brim of his cowboy hat. “I mean a big-mouthed know-itall that calls the shots here. And if there’s one thing Sam Benton don’t like, it’s Indians.”

“Sam Benton,” Hawk growled. “This name I know.”

As do I. Kit rested her hand on her brother’s arm. Heaven help them if they ran across Benton. Her father would make sure Kit never saw her brother again, and if Sam Benton discovered the truth about Kit’s time in the Indian village, he would use his power to destroy Hawk and lock Kit away in a protected shell for the rest of her life.

“Garret’s counting on Benton to help him with the contract. But it’s those pants of yours that’ve really set him off.” The laughter melted from the man’s eyes. Every muscle tensed in the handsome young cowboy’s face. “Our ma was a whore.” He waited to see if the news shocked her. It didn’t. Hardship forced women into many roles. She had only to look at herself for proof.

“We don’t hide it under a rock,” Cade went on, leaning against the hitching post. “Don’t paste it on a billboard. She wore pants and cracked a bullwhip. Ma was pretty well known in the cow towns. Wichita, Dodge City, Abilene. Spent her last years salooning in Colorado City. Garret don’t cotton to being reminded of that time.”

Kit knew the pain of rejecting a parent. Garret resented his mother, whose life-style had forced him to face the unpleasantness of the world. Kit, a father who had tried to shield her from life. “Does he hate his mother so much?”

“Hate?” Cade rubbed his face as though to wash away the memories. “At one time, I’d say that was the only thing that drove Garret. He was a wild one. Full of spit.”

“What happened?” She wrinkled a brow in bewilderment.

Taking a deep breath, Cade seemed to evaluate whether she was searching for gossip or really cared. He must have found her worthy because he answered. “The war. Garret turned as somber as a preacher at the Pearly Gates.” Cade tapped the edge of her nose with his index finger. “Don’t you worry none over Garret. I got me a feeling you’re about as hard as some of Cracker’s week-old biscuits.”

He turned to her brother. “Hawk, I’ll be waiting for you to saddle up.” Cade adopted Kit’s nickname for her brother with the ease of a trusted friend. “Take one of the ranch horses and let that buckskin rest a spell.”

Waiting until Cade ambled over to the bunkhouse, Hawk shook his head, the blue feather in his braid rustling against the stiff leather of his vest. “This man, Garret Blaine, he is like the mountain above the treeline, cold, hard, never to thaw. We must find another ranch to take us on.”

She faced the rising peaks. In the distance, sunlight glistened on the snowy tops. Glaciers plucked the rock and, after centuries, carved jagged ridges and horns. Garret Blaine had a will harder than granite, and it would take more than ice and snow to dent it.

“The desert,” Kit corrected her brother. “Every bit of softness has blown clear of that man. He’s got a heart of stone and he’s as relentless as the desert sun.”

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the tiny spots of brilliant light behind her eyelids. “But we will stay. The Rockin’ G is perfect for us.” Her soul cried for peace, for an end to the quest that had kept her on the trail for two years.

Just a few more days and her long search would be over. At last, she would be able to sleep without having to tire her body to the limits of endurance. The thought gave her a much needed boost of morale. She opened her eyes, ready to fight.

Hawk had lost so much. To the bitter end, Kit would stand with her brother and see this mission to its bloody conclusion. Then perhaps she and Hawk could start again. Someplace where the nightmares of the past could no longer haunt them.

“Garret Blaine will have to make do with our company for a while. His ranch is remote, understaffed, and has some prime livestock.” Lowering her voice, she added, “The place is perfect for rustlers.”

Hawk’s icy stare heated. He clenched his fists into boulders capable of crushing the life from his enemy. “If Jando is here, I will find him. And kill him.”

He left Kit to wonder how long she would have to endure Garret Blaine before they could make a move. She prayed it wouldn’t be long. Both she and her brother needed a rest from their pursuit.

“Let this be the last time,” Kit whispered to the slight breeze. Only the sound of the evergreens and the sharp perfume of the cedars replied.