Jillian Hart: The Horseman

That seemed to get the horseman’s attention. “Why? Is he someone’s lost horse? Is there a reward on him? He looks wild to me.”

“Cal Willman wanted him caught and broke to ride. A stallion with markings like that would be worth something in stud fees, even if he is a cayuse. That horse put up a fuss and killed Old Pete’s son before he broke free and took a few prized Arabians with him. Cost Willman a bundle, I’ll tell you. Near about ruined him, far as anyone can tell. He fired a whole bunch of us, and we’ve been runnin’ this place with just a few hands ever since.”

“Wonder if Willman still has that reward out for him,” one of the hired men asked. “Reckon we can collect on it?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” the other ranch hand argued. “I’d like that money for myself.”

So, that’s why my stepfather sold the house in town. Curious, she couldn’t help creeping through the shadows and swiping the snow from her eyes, edging close enough to better hear what the men where saying.

But it was the horseman her eyes strayed to. The way he remained motionless, snow accumulating on his dark locks, the width of his shoulders, his attention trained on the wild horse, his focus never wavering.

He’s going to catch the stallion. But how? If the animal had leaped into the paddock, he could easily leap out before he could be cornered. The fence could not hold him. What could? The magnificent beast’s hooves beat out a swift rhythm along the length of the stable, as if he knew it, too, and he wasn’t afraid.

Run, she silently pleaded. Run while you can. The stallion skidded to a halt, shaking the snow from his coat. He turned to face the horseman, nose up, ears forward, nostrils flaring wide to scent the man who watched and waited.

“We are going to be partners, you and me.” The horseman’s promise made the men behind him guffaw.

“Keep on dreamin’, Hennessey,” one of the men called. “You’re not man enough to get your hands on that big fat reward. Bet you’d like to.”

“I wouldn’t mind if I did. It wouldn’t matter if I didn’t.” The horseman climbed onto the rail and eased down into the paddock. He approached the stallion slow and sure, like a predator stalking his next meal, confident of the outcome. “You are a handsome one, aren’t you, boy?”

The stallion nickered, a low warning sound that sent shivers down Katelyn’s spine.

“We’ve got lassos ready,” one of the ranch hands said as he led the others toward the fence. “Stand back, Hennessey. Let the real cowboys take care of this one.”

“Fine, Ned, but you boys will scare him off.” The horseman lifted a coiled whip from his belt. “Go ahead. You catch him. I’ll just lean back, take a few minutes to rest and watch you rope him in. It shouldn’t be too hard for a seasoned wrangler like you.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, Hennessey. There isn’t a horse I can’t break.” Ned crawled through the fence, then shook out his lasso.

Dillon Hennessey had learned long ago how to manage fools like Ned Ritter, so he was careful not to let anger get the best of him. He had a quick trigger when it came to the way men treated horses. It was just the way he was. He believed in respecting animals.

And women, too.

He’d noticed her before tonight. What man wouldn’t? He’d caught sight of her in the windows of the house, quiet and pale and moving slowly, as if in pain. She’d lost a child. That was hard on a woman. He could understand that.

What he couldn’t understand was why any man would have set her free.

She was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. She was delicate, refined and as fragile as those china dolls he’d seen in the store window in town. She was far too fine for the likes of him. Why are you even looking at her, Hennessey?

Because while he tried his best to make wise decisions, he made mistakes. And watching the owner’s daughter out of the corner of his eye had to be the worst mistake a man like him could make.

“You’re spookin’ him, Ned.” Dillon couldn’t believe his eyes. What were the four men going to do? They could toss all the rope in the county around that stud’s neck, and it wouldn’t do any good. They couldn’t hold him.

The truth was, nothing could hold that horse.

Nothing except his loyalty. A stallion like that one decided if he’d trust a man or not. That was the secret to dealing with difficult animals. That, along with no small bit of kindness, did the trick.

It was a secret Ned didn’t seem to know as he tossed the fat noose through the air. The hemp smacked the horse in the head.

With one great shake, the stallion knocked the rope aside. Another sailed through the air and he pivoted, a blend of shadow and substance, and fled.

“I got him! I got him!” Ned braced his stance and whipped the lasso tight.

“Hold on, Ned!” the hands advised.

This ought to be good. Dillon settled back to watch, wondering how long Ned would last. Thirty seconds at most. The stallion bunched up into a powerful jump that sent him sailing like Pegasus himself over the fence railing, hauling Ned into the fence with a crash.

Ned’s groan of pain was followed by a long string of vile curses as the end of the rope sailed out of sight along with the horse. The stallion returned to his herd of mares and galloped for the foothills of the Big Horn Range, until there was nothing but the faint drum of their hooves. Then nothing but wind and storm.

“You stood there, you lazy cuss!” Ned moaned, finding his feet and swiping the snow from his backside. “If you would’ve helped, I could’ve held him.”

“You said to let the real cowboys handle it, and I did.” That comment only made Ned mad, but Dillon didn’t care. He ignored the ranch hand’s tirade.

What Dillon did care about was the stallion. He was a runaway, was he? From this ranch? Interesting. Dillon figured he’d find out about the reward. And why the stallion had returned to this spread.

A mare’s nicker sounded from inside the stable, lifting on the rising wind, and it was a sad and lonely sound.

A female. It always came down to that. When she was special, what was a poor male to do?

Suffer, that’s what. Dillon glanced over his shoulder to the shadows near the far fence. She was gone. There was only shadow and a thin blanket of snow. Fat flakes tumbled relentlessly, covering over her footprints.

Dillon stared down at the imprints. Small and delicate.

Just like her.

Warmth filled him. It was a strange thing. A dangerous reaction.

He was lonely. He wanted a wife. But there was no chance in hell that beautiful Katelyn Green would want a man like him.

Yep, he knew when to draw and when to fold. He stood in the storm a long while with the snow falling all around him and thought of her, as elusive as that stallion in the night.

And twice as unreachable.

Katelyn carried her morning cup of tea to the dining-room window to watch the snow fall. Peace. It covered the landscape in a blanket of white, the gentle rolling whiteness covering up the mud and dirt and the season’s dead grasses, making the world new and beautiful. Heavy ice-gray clouds hung low on the horizon, masking the proud peaks of the Rocky Mountains on one side and the Big Horn Range on the other.

With the snow falling, it felt as if the sky was so close to the ground that if she went outside, she could almost touch heaven. Wishful thinking, she knew, but it remained a hard longing within her. Probably because she wanted to escape this house and this pain.

“I told you, hot tea in the mornings. Hot, not tepid. This is entirely unacceptable.” There was a clatter from upstairs and an angry tap of shoes on the staircase that echoed through the downstairs room.