Jessica Nelson - Love on the Range

As soon as Mary became a dot on the bumpy horizon, Gracie’s gaze circled back to her surroundings. Steens Mountain rose in the distance, its snowy tips glowing in the crisp air. Mary had told her the mountains were really a single fault block, rising almost ten thousand feet in places.

Good details to get down. She pulled out her map, guessed her coordinates and refolded the map. She drew out her notepad and jotted the numbers, adding a description of the terrain. Could there be caves and hidden dwelling places in these rocks?

The back of her neck prickled. Criminals of the vilest natures could find refuge here. Would Striker? It explained the sightings in Burns and other Oregon towns.

Striker wouldn’t hide with criminals, though.

She slipped the pad of paper and folded map into her coat pocket and began to walk, stripping off the coat and tying it around her waist. In Boston she was often stuck indoors sewing, knitting, learning how to run a large household and how to balance the books. With the war going on she’d been inside much of the time, doing good deeds that left her with sore fingers and crooked stitches. Despite her longing to serve her country, there seemed to be no place where she fit.

She had wanted to join the military but her parents expressly forbid it.

Gracie had considered becoming a wartime operator but her French made people cringe.

The sight of blood caused her to faint, which ruled out nursing. Thus the uneventful good deeds such as sewing came into play.

Thankfully, there were rumors the Great War would soon end. She hoped they were true for the soldiers’ sakes as well as her own.

The sound of hooves broke her thoughts, scattering them as surely as the approaching horse shook dust from the horizon. A horseman pounded toward her, gaining ground by the second. The rider’s form sharpened into a broad-shouldered man.

Chapter Four

Heart slamming against her sternum, Gracie backed up, then realized the futility of such an endeavor. Her imagination set sail as the rider’s shape morphed into a more recognizable figure. One who wore Trevor’s conspicuous hat.

Relief rushed through her so fast her knees trembled. Trevor often came to meals but she had not been alone with him since their conversation at the train depot. She fumbled with her skirt, the memory of feeling dowdy the first morning here flustering her into a nervous state. She took a deep breath.

That was ridiculous. Gracelyn Riley did not get nervous. Especially over a man.

She straightened her shoulders, willing some starch into her backbone as the horse thundered up to her. The beast stopped mere inches from her nose. Swallowing a squeal, she stepped back.

“Hello, Trevor. What are you doing out here?” She looked up at him, shading her eyes from the morning sun.

“That would be my question for you.” His deep voice carried a sterner note than usual.

“Is there a problem with me walking in the grass?”

“Let’s just say you know nothing about the Oregon desert. Anything could happen to you out here, and you wouldn’t know how to deal with it.”

The rich scent of horse and leather floated to her. The sun warmed her cheeks and his hat cast a shadow over his face. No doubt he wore that stubborn look he’d sported on the bench.

A hot flush of anger zipped through her. Finally out from beneath her parents’ confining rules, no man was going to tell her what to do. Her shoulders stiffened. “Your presumptions about me are astounding. Move your horse so I may continue on my way.”

Trevor’s stallion shuffled in front of her, heavy hooves pounding the dirt. He looked ready to break into a gallop. He snuffled, a loud, wet and hungry sound. She eyed the large teeth warily as the horse chomped at the bit.

Perhaps a more mannerly approach would work best. “Please move your horse.”

“Why don’t I give you a ride back?”

“No, thank you. I am enjoying myself, and you seem…” She didn’t want to finish. Offending him was not in her best interests.

“Seem what?” he asked, scar quirking upward with that annoying eyebrow of his.

She backed up another step. “Uh, like you’d rather ride than walk.” She banished the word irascible to the back of her mind.

“I like walking.”

He slid off the saddle. They walked together, the horse trailing them. Gracie wanted to talk to relieve the silence, but her mind had become curiously blank. No need to talk his ear off as she’d done at the depot.

Trevor shortened his stride to match hers. For a time the horse’s plodding footsteps and the whispers of the grass in the breeze were the only sounds to keep them company.

He finally broke the silence. “What do you think of the ranch?”

“I find it charming. Have you lived here long?”

“Lou and I go way back. I knew him when he bought the place and I came to work for him shortly thereafter.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Gracie glanced at him, admiring the determination that marked his face. “The work, I mean? I’ve always thought business, besides mathematics, would be dreary.”

“I like order, structure. The thrill of competition and hunting out the perfect stock.”

She laughed. “You don’t seem adventurous, but I suppose you are, in a different sort of way.” A sigh escaped. “It is unfortunate that adventure is difficult to come by out here. A desert has little in the way of exciting activities. I fear I’ll be dreadfully bored until spring.”

Trevor snorted.

She ignored the derisive sound. “Do you plan to own your own ranch someday? Being someone else’s right-hand man is not the same as being in charge.”

“Someday I’ll buy a ranch.”

“You’d do well with it, I’m sure.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. “Thanks. How’s everything going for you at the house?”

“Lovely. Uncle Lou is a real sport. It’s wonderful how he financially supports the suffrage movement. Women deserve the right to participate in the choosing of our elected state representatives. Don’t you agree?”

“Change subjects quick, don’t you?”

She grimaced. “I apologize.”

Something like a smile snagged the corners of his lips.

“Women are citizens, just like any man,” he finally said after an interminably long silence.

An enlightened cowboy. For a moment, Gracie didn’t know what to say. Dragging in a deep breath, she looked over at him. “A man’s treatment of a woman’s basic rights says much of his character.”

Her toe caught against a rock and before she knew what was happening, she landed on her elbow. She winced at the sting and moved to stand.

Rattling filled the air. She stiffened, confused. Within seconds she saw the snake poised in front of her. For a second it seemed as though her heart stopped beating.

Then Trevor was beside her, raising his arm. He moved so fast she didn’t understand what he did until the rattling stopped and the only sound was gunfire echoing across the uneven landscape.

Breath shallow, Gracie stood carefully. “Thank you.” She clasped her hands tight but their shaking wouldn’t stop.

He holstered the gun, expression unreadable. “You okay?” His fingers reached toward her, then withdrew. By unspoken assent, they began to walk again, skirting around the area where the mangled carcass of a rattler must surely rest.

She wouldn’t know as she kept her gaze averted. “I see what you mean about dangers.” Good. Her voice sounded normal.

“Actually, most rattlers are curling up in crevices by now. That was strange.” He glanced at her.

Still shaky, she attempted to give him a smile and for her trouble, stumbled over a shrub again. She instinctively grabbed Trevor’s arm for support. A bright spot of red on her sleeve snagged her attention.