Читать книгу Winning Over the Wrangler - Linda Ford - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Her resolve to pursue a story about this man firmly in place, Sybil went to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” Linette asked as she bustled about the large room. A big wooden table filled one corner; cupboards and shelves occupied the opposite corner. East windows on either side of the outer door allowed them to enjoy the sunrise as they ate breakfast. Another door opened to a spacious, well-stocked pantry, and a third doorway opened to the hall that led to the rest of the house. Another door, always closed, hid the formal dining room, which Linette refused to use.

Even though she expected a baby in a few months, it didn’t slow her down. She never seemed to stop working.

“Frightened is all, but I’m fine now. What can I do to help?”

Mercy sliced carrots into a pot.

Roasting meat filled the room with enough aroma to make Sybil’s mouth water. Food certainly tasted better when it came fresh from the garden and when she had a hand in preparing it. Something she’d never done before her arrival at the ranch.

Meeting a man like Brand—big, strong, bold—would have never happened back in England, either. The men she’d been acquainted with would pale in comparison.

Mercy paused. “That bronc buster is a fine-looking man.” She gave Sybil a glance that demanded a response.

“Can’t say I really noticed.”

Mercy laughed. “Hard to see much with your face smashed against his shirtfront.”

“He was fast enough and brave enough to rescue me. I thank God for that.” Except she’d forgotten to thank Him and she made up for it on the spot, uttering silent thanks.

“I join in thanking God,” Linette said as she poured water from the boiled potatoes, saving it in a jar to use later, when she made bread.

Sybil watched everything Linette did. She’d found so much satisfaction in learning to cook meals, bake bread and cookies, and even preserve garden produce for the approaching winter months. She’d only meant the trip to western Canada as a chance to start over, to rebuild her heart and strengthen the barriers around it, but she’d found so much more. She’d found purpose in doing useful things.

“I regret Mr. Brand refused to come for supper,” Linette said. “But I’ve decided to send supper to him. Eddie said he’d be an hour yet. Would you two take a meal to Mr. Brand?”

“Of course,” Mercy said.

Sybil wanted to refuse, because her heart still beat a little too fast as she remembered being held so firmly. But it provided a chance to meet him in a less emotionally packed way and learn about him, so she could write a fine story. “Certainly we’ll take a meal to him.” No need for her silly reaction to repeat itself. She knew how to control her emotions.

Linette piled a plate high with what looked to Sybil like enough food to feed a family. She couldn’t get used to the amount a working cowboy ate. Linette must have noticed her surprise. She chuckled. “I’m guessing a man who makes his own meals around a campfire would enjoy a home-cooked meal.” She wrapped the plate in a cloth and handed the bundle to Sybil.

Sybil and Mercy left the house. They paused at the corrals, where the gate had been repaired and the wild horses had settled down. They asked where they could find Brand, and Eddie directed them to the east. They crossed the yard, the grass beaten down and brown after a summer of wear. What must it be like for Brand to eat and sleep outside as the nights grew colder? Sybil wondered. Any cowboy, not just him.

“You be sure and have a good look at him this time,” Mercy said as they climbed the hill and made their way through some trees.

Sybil didn’t need to give him a good look. She’d already done that and it had caused her heart to quiver. Instead, she concentrated on their surroundings. Dark pines stood like silent sentries. The golden leaves of the aspens swung to and fro, catching the sunlight in flashing brightness.

A dog growled and Mercy grabbed her arm.

“I don’t fancy being torn up by a cross dog,” Sybil whispered. “Maybe we should go back.”

Mercy looked at the plate of food, then back down the trail.

Maybe she was doing the same as Sybil...measuring how fast they could run and considering if an angry dog would stop for the food if she dropped the plate.

“I know you’re there. Come out and make yourself known,” Brand called out.

Her fingers clutching the plate so hard the china would certainly crack at any moment, Sybil ventured forward. “I’ll throw the food at the dog if I have to,” she murmured to Mercy.

“Good idea.”

They stepped into a clearing. Wood smoke shimmered in the air. The smell pinched her nose.

A dog lunged toward them. Quite the ugliest dog she’d ever seen. Dirty brown with snapping black eyes and bared yellowed teeth. Not a big animal, but still a threat to life and limb. Only Brand’s hand at the animal’s neck restrained him.

Sybil squeaked. At the same time, she considered what sort of man kept such a dog.

“Quiet, Dawg,” Brand murmured, his voice so deep it seemed to echo the canine’s growl. The animal settled into watchfulness that did nothing to ease Sybil’s mind.

She swallowed hard and shifted her attention to the man. His cowboy hat was pulled low so all she saw of his face was a strong jaw and expressionless mouth.

She turned. “Come on, Mercy. No one is going to bite.” She faced Brand again. “I assume I am correct in saying that.” She indicated his dog, though maybe she meant more. Not that she expected Brand to bite, but he certainly filled the air with danger.

Or maybe it was her own heart calling out the silent warning.

“He won’t bother you unless he thinks you’re threatening me.”

The dog settled back on his haunches and watched them.

Mercy laughed nervously. “And how could we do that? We’re two unarmed women.” She stepped closer, hesitated when Dawg growled louder, and turned her attention to the animal. “Nice doggie. I won’t hurt you.” She put out a hand to touch the ugly dog. It lunged with a growl.

Mercy jerked back and Sybil almost dropped the plate of food.

Brand’s large hand gripped the dog by the ruff. “Stay!” He gave a tug and the dog settled.

Sybil’s heartbeat hammered erratically.

“Why do you keep such a cross creature?” Mercy asked.

Brand looked at Sybil as he answered, though she could not see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. “He’s my kind of friend.”

Again Mercy laughed. “I wonder what that says about you.”

Sybil thought the same thing. Judging by his quick, selfless actions that day, Brand deserved better company than a cross dog. But considering how he’d declined Linette’s dinner invitation, maybe he preferred it that way. That would make an interesting twist to her story.

“Read it any way you want.”

Sybil narrowed her eyes and watched his face for clues.

He met her gaze. Something flickered in his eyes. An emotion she couldn’t name. Perhaps he gave consideration to his chosen solitary state.

Having held a woman in his arms so recently, he longed—

No. That wasn’t what she’d write.

His isolation had been momentarily disturbed by his quick actions in saving a young woman, but he quickly reverted to his usual state. He and his dog...

Her thoughts abandoned her as she tried to free herself from his gaze. The way he hid behind his hat, the set of his jaw, even eating at a campfire when he’d been invited to share a meal said he either welcomed loneliness or it had been imposed upon him for some reason. She studied him as if she might be able to discern which it was.

He dipped his head.

She drew in a sharp breath. She’d been staring. But only because she wondered about the reason for his self-imposed solitary state.

She realized she still held the plate of food. “We brought you supper. Linette decided if you wouldn’t come to the house for a meal, she’d send you one.”

After a moment’s consideration of the offer, he nodded toward a stump. “Leave it there.”

Despite his dismissive words, his solitary state called out to Sybil. She stepped past the dog to put the plate on the stump he indicated. “Do you mind if we visit a few minutes?” Would she be able to discover the reason for his loneliness? Or perhaps something about his background?

“Suit yourself. Have a seat. Lots of grass to choose from, or pull up a log.” A smile flitted across his face so fast she almost missed it.

Sybil’s curiosity about the man grew. She sank to the ground. Mercy sat a few feet away, her gaze never leaving the dog.

Sybil smiled. At least her friend wouldn’t be taking an inventory of Brand’s looks and itemizing them for her later.

He snatched off his hat as if recalling his manners.

She stared, darted her gaze away. Against her better judgment, she brought it slowly back. Mercy was right. He was a fine-looking man, dark and mysterious. Black curly hair that was over long, deep brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose...

He met her look for a second. She saw a soul-deep sorrow that sucked at her resolve, diluted it and poured it out on the ground. She sought for reason. Perhaps she was taking her study of him too seriously...imagining how lonely it must be for him. But then, she wasn’t him, so how would she know until she asked?

Before she could glance away, he shifted his attention to his dog, which was lying at his side, watching Mercy.

Sybil almost laughed aloud at the way her friend and the canine eyed each other. She’d never before seen this side of Mercy, who was usually adventuresome to the point of recklessness. At least that’s how Sybil saw it, although she’d be the first to admit she was conservative in the extreme by comparison.

Still unsettled by what she’d seen in Brand’s eyes, she shifted her attention back to him, wondering if she’d imagined it.

He stared at something on the ground at his feet. She looked toward the same spot. All she saw were blades of grass.

“They say you never get bucked off a horse. Is that right?” The question had sprung from her mouth unbidden...but not unwelcome.

He chuckled, cut it off abruptly. Was he not comfortable laughing? “I guess you could say that practice makes perfect.”

She smiled at how his answer said so much with so few words. “So you took a lot of spills before you got good at it?” Dawg stopped having a staring contest with Mercy and inched toward Sybil, his head between his paws. Poor thing meant no harm. He was likely as lonesome as his owner.

There you go again. Jumping to conclusions. You have no way of knowing if he’s lonely or just likes to be alone.

That was part of what she hoped to discover.

“I got tossed off many times.”

Remembering how she’d held her breath as he rode a bucking horse, and wondering how he could stand it, Sybil shuddered. Getting tossed off sounded even worse than riding. “Did you ever get hurt?”

Mercy leaned closer, earning her a growl from Dawg. She edged back. “It must be so exciting. I think I’ll give it a try.”

Sybil gasped. “Mercy, you can’t be serious.” She fixed a demanding, pleading look on Brand. “Tell her she could get hurt. Tell her it’s foolish to think of riding a wild horse.” Why did Mercy think she must do something crazy and reckless all the time?

Brand choked slightly, as if keeping back another chuckle. “Ma’am, she’s right. It takes a lot of practice and lots of good fortune to survive some of the wild horses. Sure would hate to see your neck all busted up.”

Mercy grinned widely. “Still, I just might see how I fare.”

“Have you ever been hurt?” The words squeaked from Sybil’s throat. A man with a dangerous job. Likely that explained why he was alone. A woman or a friend would face the constant risk of seeing him hurt or killed by one of those angry horses. How many women would accept that kind of life? She certainly wouldn’t. She’d marry at some point, because she wanted a home and family, but she’d want security and safety when she did.

And she didn’t intend to involve what was left of her heart. Colin had made her see the folly of that.

Brand answered her question. “Nothing serious, seeing as I’m still here and still riding horses.”

“But you have been injured?” Sybil, you don’t need to know the particulars to see that this man should wear a big danger sign around his neck.

Details for her story. That was the only reason she wanted to know.

“A time or two. Once when I was ten.”

“Ten! You were hardly out of short pants.”

“Ma’am. I never wore short pants. And it was my older brother who thought it was a lark to throw me on a horse he was trying to break. I stuck until the ornery critter stopped bucking.”

Another chuckle that he made no attempt to hide. Interesting observation. It would make a nice addition to her story.

A loner of a man with a deep-throated laugh that broke out unexpectedly from time to time, surprising the cowboy as much as it did those who heard it.

“I felt so high and mighty about riding a horse my brother couldn’t that I climbed to the loft and jumped out the open door.”

Mercy laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever.

Sybil gasped. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I was ten. I didn’t need a reason. But I guess I thought riding a wild horse made me invincible.”

Sybil laughed softly. “Let me guess. That’s when you were injured.”

“My brother broke my fall, but I still busted my arm.” He held it out and had a good look at it.

Mercy leaned back on her hands, her gaze darting frequently to Dawg.

Sybil’s mind raced with questions. How many could she ask before he refused to answer? “What happens when you get bucked off?”

“If I did get bucked off—” he made it sound like a far-fetched possibility “—I’d just get right back on and finish the job.”

His answer pleased her. She liked the idea of a man finishing what he’d begun. Except, she reminded herself firmly, in this case, it meant he would break horses and move on. That’s the job he’d begun.

Not that she cared one way or the other.

You’re not telling yourself the truth here, Sybil.

Oh, hush. Her inner voice could be so annoying at times.

Annoyingly right, maybe? Because you wish that he’d stay around.

I do not. How could I wish for anything so foolish? A dangerous man. A leaving man. I’m paying attention only because he saved my life and I want to write a good story.

You’re hiding from the truth.

Sybil wasn’t interested in whatever so-called truth that annoying inner voice meant.