Читать книгу Wild Mustang - Jane Toombs - Страница 11

Laura was in good spirits as she and Shane rode out early in the cool of the morning. So far, there’d been no problem staying at the ranch. She welcomed the chance to make friends with Sage, although she’d never imagined she’d wind up teaching any girl to embroider.

It was a skill she hadn’t called up in years, but, as it turned out, she hadn’t forgotten. “Like riding a bicycle,” she said aloud.

Shane turned to look at her. “Bicycle?”

“I was thinking that we rarely forget skills we learned as children,” she told him.

“I was six when my father taught me how to whittle,” he said.

“I admire the mustang on your mantel. You’re really talented. I didn’t notice any other pieces, though.”

“Most of what I make goes to the shops to be sold. Keeps us eating.”

If the wild horse was any example, she thought his carvings ought to fetch top prices.

They rode in silence for a while, Laura enjoying the clean desert air and the sight of the snow-capped Sierra peaks in the distance. “What’s the altitude here?” she asked.

“Over four thousand feet.” His glance was assessing. “Tends to bother people coming from near sea level.”

“So if I sleep in, that’s why?” she asked. Actually she’d had trouble forcing herself out of bed this morning. Sheer determination had fueled her I’ll-show-him attitude or she’d still be asleep.

He half-smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think you will.”

After another silence, he pointed to some sleek, streamlined clouds drifting over the Sierra peaks. “Lenticulars. Some weather heading our way. You can feel the dampness in the air.”

“You’re the local weather expert—I’ll take your word for it.”

“Smell the air.”

It was an order, so she did. His raised eyebrows told her that he expected a comment.

“The scent of sage is maybe a bit stronger than usual.”

He nodded. “Damp air.”

She wondered if she’d passed some kind of test. Not that she cared. No, wait, that wasn’t true. She did want to impress upon him that she wasn’t a person to be given the slowest, safest mare in the corral. She was a professional who knew what she was doing, and sooner or later he’d be forced to recognize it.

A plume of dust caught her eye. Before she could point it out, he said, “We’ll head for those cottonwoods to the right. They run along a stream, and chances are the herd’s coming to the water. If we get there first and stay still, we won’t spook ’em.”

He was right. As they waited under the branches covered with the bright green leaves of early June, the mustangs they’d spotted gathered upstream—five of them. To her disappointment, the calico pinto mare wasn’t among them. In fact—weren’t they all stallions?

“Is that what they call a bachelor herd?” she asked in a low tone, admiring a white horse a bit smaller than the others.

“Right. All young males who haven’t collected a harem yet.”

As they watched the mustangs drink, then wheel and trot off, Laura was once again awed by their fluid grace. She’d never imagined she’d be so moved by the sight of wild horses.

“Might as well dismount and take a break,” Shane said.

Somewhat surprised, since they hadn’t been riding long, she agreed. Once off the mare, she wandered down to the stream—narrow, but containing a respectable amount of water. From what her brother had told her about Nevada, she figured this was snow-melt and that, later in the summer, the creek might run dry.

Dipping her fingers in the cold water confirmed her guess. Rejoining Shane near the trunk of a good-sized tree, she turned up her face for a moment to feel the warmth of the sun filtering through the leafy branches. What a peaceful scene. She’d have relaxed completely if only she hadn’t been so aware of the man standing no more that two feet away.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said, not looking at her.

She waited. When he didn’t go on, she asked, “About what?”

“About what you said.”

She’d said a lot of things. “You’ll have to be specific.”

Shane flicked her a glance. This was going to be even harder than he’d thought. He sure as hell didn’t want to say what must be said or do what must be done. The trouble was, he couldn’t figure any other way.

When he’d roused in the grayness of pre-dawn, he’d seen the solution there before him, like jigsaw puzzle pieces fitted together, each piece a separate entity, but together creating a whole. Like a puzzle, it could be taken apart again, which was the only reason he’d considered it.

“It’s about my sister,” he said. “I didn’t tell you yesterday, but Judge Rankin warned me I ought to get married or else he’d have trouble letting me keep Sage. Then you talked about what you called a marriage of accommodation.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, I did. I really do think that’s your best choice at this point, since you don’t seem to have any woman in mind you really want to marry.”

“So you agree.”

He caught her nod from the corner of his eye. Good. This might turn out to be simpler than he’d figured. Still it was hard to get the words out.

“Grandfather seconds my choice,” he temporized. “In fact, it was his choice first.”

“All the better.”

Go for it, man, he told himself. Stop hedging. Facing her directly, he said, “Grandfather thinks you’re the perfect person for the judge to accept, and I’ve decided he’s right. Since I don’t want to get married and neither do you, we are, as the ads say, made for each other—at least as far as this situation goes.” He cut off his nervous babbling. Damn, but he was on edge.

She stared up at him, her mouth slightly open. He hadn’t before noticed how perfectly shaped her lips were. Not that it mattered. He kept waiting for her to speak, but she seemed dumbstruck.

“Well?” he muttered.

“I—uh—I—” She swallowed and stopped, looking as wild-eyed as a frightened mustang.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “It was your idea.”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t mean me,” she sputtered. “I can’t—I couldn’t possibly. No.”

“Why not? It’s not like it’s for real.”

“But you—that is, I—what I mean is, I don’t want to expose myself to—” She broke off, looking away from him.

“Expose yourself to what? Me? Hell, I thought you understood I don’t want anything from you except your agreement to be a wife on paper.”

“I do understand that. But I—”

“You’re scared.”

“No!”

He laid a hand on her shoulder, removing it before she could flinch away. “Then why are you trembling?” he asked. “You remind me of a spooked mare.”

With great effort, Laura pulled herself together. There was no use trying to explain. Shane couldn’t possibly understand why she was “spooked.”

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I just can’t. Shall we get on with our ride?”

They’d made a sweep of one section of the reservation without coming across any mustangs before Shane suggested they start back. Up until then, neither of them had said a word.

“We’ll be taking a day off tomorrow,” he added. “No point in riding in the rain, and it’ll give me a chance to get into town.”

Laura had no doubt it would rain. Even she could now feel the change in the air—which corresponded to a change in her. Though she still viewed his proposal askance, she was beginning to ask herself if she hadn’t overreacted.

Shane didn’t want to get married any more than she did. Surely he’d be amenable to putting everything in writing—separate rooms and all that. Did she believe he’d abide by the written agreement? That was the poser.

Supposing she did believe he would—could she then tolerate the idea of such a marriage?

When they reached the barn, she was still pondering the possibility. Seeing Sage come running out to meet them, her face alight with welcome, Laura’s heart contracted. How vulnerable the girl was. Sage must never be allowed to go through anything even vaguely similar to what had happened to her when she was young. Never!

I’ll talk to Grandfather, Laura decided. He knows Shane far better than I.

Her chance came almost immediately. Sage had been invited to Donna’s house for a sleepover and wanted Shane’s permission. When he gave it, she then needed a ride to her friend’s house, some distance away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t start supper,” Sage said to Laura. “I was going to make chicken enchiladas. Donna’s mom showed me how, and I wrote it down. It’s real easy.”

Laura smiled at her. “That’s good, because I’ve never made them. I can cook, though, honest.”

“Oh, I knew you could cook. I expect you can do most anything. But this recipe is sort of different ’cause there’s no tomatoes in it. You don’t mind having to get supper ready?”

Laura shook her head. “Not a bit. You go and enjoy the sleepover with Donna.”

“Is it all right if I hug you goodbye?” Sage asked, when she had her sleeping gear piled by the door.

Laura responded by hugging Sage. “Have a good time,” she told the girl.

After the door closed behind Shane and his sister, Laura sighed. How long had it been since she’d hugged anyone? Not since she’d last seen her brother and his wife and their son Tim. She hadn’t visited them yet on this trip to Nevada because she’d wanted to start working first.

She walked slowly back into the kitchen and found Grandfather seated at the table with a glass of iced tea. “Sage made you some without sugar,” he said, nodding his head toward the refrigerator.

After pouring herself a glass, Laura sat down across from him.

“You got the look of someone with a troubled heart,” he said.

“It’s Sage,” she said, approaching the subject at a tangent. “She doesn’t want to leave you and Shane and it sounds as though she may have to unless—” She hesitated, uncertain how to go on.

“Unless you marry Shane.”

Laura blinked. How did he know? “Has Shane discussed this with you?” she asked.

Grandfather shook his head. “Sage and I had it all figured out he’d have to marry someone. Problem was, we knew he wouldn’t take on just anyone. Then I had this dream just before you came along. The minute we set eyes on you, Sage and I knew you’d been sent.”

“Sent?” she faltered.

“Yup. You see, that no-account pa of Sage’s got off the booze a couple of years ago, got himself a good job and, I figure, a good woman like my daughter was. I asked a friend who lives down that way to find out who she is, and he says she’s got Miwok blood. That’s one of the California tribes. I don’t say that makes her perfect.” He grinned and added, “But I’m prejudiced.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Look at it from Judge Rankin’s side. He might figure Sage should have a chance to be a part of two cultures and here she is living on a Paiute reservation when she could be living with her pa and a new stepmother who’s got some of the blood. Two cultures, right there. That’s where you come in. The judge looks at you and says, hey, two cultures right here on the res, why move the kid?”

Why you old schemer, she thought, annoyance mixed with amusement. You were planning to marry me off to Shane practically from the moment I walked in the door. And for all I know, even before. No wonder Sage asked if I was married.

“Did you put Shane up to asking me?” she demanded.

He shook his head. “I know better. I might have pointed out how well you and Sage got along, but you can’t push that stubborn one.”

“Well, he did ask me and I refused.”

“Figured you might.”

Laura blinked at him. “You didn’t think I’d agree?”

“Not till you had some time to think it over. I saw how you got on with Sage—you like her as much as she does you.”

“That’s true. But, still—marriage is another matter entirely.”

“Raised that boy. Never saw him break his word. You set the rules, and he’ll stick to ’em.”

She stared into Grandfather’s wise, dark eyes and decided to confide in him—up to a point. “I couldn’t possibly agree to marry any man. Not if he expected me to actually be his wife.”

“You think Shane’d have trouble with that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“That’s your sticking point, is it? Easy enough to write it out and ask him to sign that he agrees. I’ll keep the paper safe. And you’d be safe, too.”

Laura bit her lip. Three days ago, she hadn’t met any of the Bearclaws. How could she even contemplate such an intimate involvement with Shane, signed agreement or not? And yet, there was Sage to consider. The girl’s future mattered a great deal to Laura. She’d never forgive herself if she turned away from this problem and something bad happened to Sage.

Somehow, too, she trusted Grandfather and believed what he’d told her about his grandson. “How long do you think we’d have to keep up the pretense?” she asked.

“According to what you wrote to us about what you’re doing with the mustangs, seems to me you’re going to be here in the West at least a year.”

Laura nodded. “My grant runs for one year, with the possibility of an extension if I find I need a few more months. But I won’t be in Nevada all that time. I have to check all the western herds.”

“A year sounds pretty good. Sage’ll be getting on for twelve by then.”

But still vulnerable, Laura thought. After a year, though, the girl’s father might well give up any further attempt to gain custody.

“It’s not like you’re yearning to marry someone else,” Grandfather added.

That was true. Even if Laura were gone, there’d be no need to hurry to end the arrangement unless Shane found a woman he could love. And she could always come back and visit Sage from time to time. She wished she could postpone a decision, but realized there wasn’t time to shilly-shally. She had to decide now.

“It scares me,” she confessed.

“Probably scares the stuffing out of Shane, too,” Grandfather countered. “Never saw a man so dead set on not marrying again.”

Maybe so, but women were more vulnerable than men in some ways. Could she trust a man she didn’t really know? On the other hand, Grandfather trusted him to keep his word, and he’d known Shane from birth.

“It would have to be a very private wedding,” she said.

Grandfather smiled at her, then reached for her hand and brought her palm to his chest. “Your words warm my heart,” he told her, releasing her hand.

She was touched by his gesture. At the same time she was shaken by the realization that she’d agreed to what seemed to her the wildest scheme in the world. Yet her main emotion was relief that the decision had been made, combined with the surprising sense that she was embarking on an adventure.

Laura shook her head, aware she was the least adventurous person she knew. In some ways, though, she found herself looking forward to this one.

Because of Sage, she assured herself. The girl needed her. Shane certainly didn’t, except for legal reasons, and she didn’t need him at all. Things really wouldn’t be any different between the two of them.

Grandfather rose from his chair. “You bring honor to the Bearclaws,” he told her before heading for the back door.

What a strange thing for him to say, though his words had pleased her. She rose and brought the glasses to the sink where she washed them and put them in the drainer. If she was going to live here, it was time to make herself useful. She began assembling the ingredients for the enchiladas, following the recipe Sage had left out for her.

Laura was sliding the chicken enchiladas into the oven when she heard the unmistakable click of Shane’s boots. She froze, made a face at herself, and went on with what she was doing, ignoring the panicked hammering of her heart.

When he entered the kitchen she was closing the oven door. Straightening, she blurted, “I told Grandfather we’d get married.”

He blinked. Had he changed his mind? Half of her hoped so, but the other, traitorous half waited to hear him say he hadn’t.

Shane tried to figure out what to say. Sure, he’d asked her because he couldn’t see any other way, but he’d been damn near positive she’d never agree.

“I warned him I expected a private ceremony,” she went on.

God knows he did, too. “No problem. Just Grandfather and Sage and the—” He paused. “Never got around to asking. Minister, priest, or justice of the peace?”

“I’d prefer a civil ceremony. A JP will be fine.”

He nodded. Seemed more appropriate for the kind of marriage they were heading into.

“Grandfather will keep the paper you sign,” she added.

“Paper?”

“Agreeing not to expect me to—well, we’ll have separate rooms and such.”

Shane watched her flush. He wanted to smile, but was aware he’d better not. “You can be sure I’ll never approach you in that way unless—” He paused, watching her as he finished, “—unless you want me to. Unless you decide to move into my bedroom.”

“Never!” She made a thrusting away motion with her hands at the same time as the word burst from her.

“I’ll sign the paper,” he said hastily, sorry to have provoked the distress he saw in her face.

What the hell were they doing, the two of them? Something neither wanted, that was for sure. But he’d do anything to keep Sage and, thankfully, Laura was already fond enough of his sister to agree.

It’d work out, he told himself. It’s the right thing to do. But, as he left the kitchen, he had the distinct feeling that old Coyote, the Trickster, was keeping an eye on the pair of them and laughing his head off.

Why shouldn’t he be? Getting attached to someone led to trouble. Love led straight to grief, as his first marriage had proved. If he wasn’t so fond of his sister, he’d never have gotten himself into this predicament. Here he was, not only having to marry a perfect stranger, but a woman he’d never choose if he really did want a wife.

Later, in bed for the night, he found himself thinking of Laura, sleeping down the hall from him in what would continue to be her bedroom after their marriage. He’d sign her damn paper and abide by what was written, no argument there, but it was beginning to occur to him that part of the deal wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d assumed.

It wasn’t as though he’d gone without a woman all these years—there were plenty of available women no more interested in marriage than he was. But once he married, it’d be all over the res if he played around. With his custody of Sage in the balance, he couldn’t afford to have that happen. No wonder the Trickster laughed—the joke was on Shane Bearclaw.

Laura might not be his type, but she was certainly an attractive woman in her quiet way—any man would agree with that. Yet he’d already given his word he wouldn’t touch her, without thinking that he’d be pretty well hobbled when it came to touching any other woman, either. He’d be looking forward to pure frustration.

Unless she changed her mind—he’d left that loophole. Chances of that seemed dim. Something about men—he didn’t think it was just him—spooked her. It came from her past, and she’d refused to discuss it with him. Which was her privilege. Except now, as he figured it, if she didn’t come around to telling him about whatever had happened, she’d remain spooked.

A shame a pretty woman like Laura was so hung up on her past that she couldn’t even contemplate making love with any man, even her about-to-be husband, without panicking.

A formidable challenge.