Carolyn Davidson - Gerrity's Bride

“Seems to me he had a family right here,” she said haughtily. “You and Arnetta filled the bill for him. He didn’t need a daughter.” As she spoke the words, a twinge of pain needled its way into her heart, and she recognized the envy that blossomed within her. “He didn’t need me,” she repeated stoically.

“You’re wrong.” Matt’s voice was firm, adamant, as he denied her claim. “He felt bad every time one of his letters came back unopened. Then he finally stopped sendin’ ‘em.”

She was silent, digesting the news he’d just delivered, tempted to admit her ignorance of the facts she’d just been faced with. But not for the world would she betray her grandparents, though dismay gripped her as she repeated his words to herself.

His letters came back unopened.

It was too late for mourning, she decided as her back stiffened. But unwanted tears burned against her eyelids, and she struggled to contain them. If he really wanted her, he’d have come after her, she reasoned painfully. She allowed herself one sniff, breathing deeply as she pacified herself with the thought, her eyes on the ground.

“What did you want to show me?” she asked abruptly. “Surely there must have been a reason for this jaunt.”

He glanced at the set expression she wore and scowled. One day he’d make her listen, he vowed. She was due for an eye-opener where her daddy was concerned.

“Just thought you’d like to take a look at the near pasture, and then ride to the top of that highest rise ahead of us,” he answered. “You can see the stream over east of here, and from the high spot we can see all the way to the summer ranges, where the horses go for pasturing.”

“You send them away?” she asked, relieved that he’d allowed her retreat.

“Yep. We round up a good share of the stock and herd them north from here into the high country to graze. Leave a couple of men there for the summer to tend them. They stay in a line shack and watch for mountain lions and keep an eye on things.”

“What about the young ones? Do you send them, too?”

He nodded. “Except for the nursing foals and the ones we keep here to train for saddle. The rest we’ll sell off as we need to.”

“To whom?”

“Whoever,” he said. “Some go north, some to the army. We make most of our money from the ones we break and sell to ranchers or send east.”

“Break?” she asked.

“Well, eastern lady, what do you call it when you get a horse to let you on its back and give you a ride?” His tone was amused as he teased her.

“I can’t imagine breaking an animal,” she said briskly. “Back in Kentucky, we train them, starting with a foal, just days old. By the time we’re ready to mount them, they’re used to being handled and are ready to be ridden.”

“And I suppose you know all the tricks of the trade,” he suggested mockingly as he watched her roll with the easy gait of her horse. Once she got past the rough trot, she managed well, he thought with silent admiration.

“I watched the trainers work, from the time I was a child,” she said, and her mouth tilted in a smile of remembrance. “I used to sneak out to the barns whenever I could. And when I was older, our head trainer, Doc Whitman, let me help.”

“I’ll bet your mother didn’t know,” he surmised with a lifted eyebrow.

“No.” Her smile faded as she straightened in the saddle. “How much farther?” she asked briskly.

“A ways yet,” he returned, acknowledging her retreat.

The level land began rising in a gradual ascent, and her pony chose his way without her guidance, moving at a steady pace that ate the ground beneath them. She followed just a few feet to Matt’s rear, aware now of the value of the high-backed saddle as she settled into the rolling gait. Her eyes scanned the land about her, yet returned like a compass pointing north to the man who rode before her, his back straight, his shoulders held proudly as he traveled the land he’d been entrusted with.

The highest of the sprawling hills was ahead, and Emmaline felt the hot rays of the midmorning sun penetrate her white shirtwaist even as the breeze kept her reasonably cool while they rode. Matt had handed her a wide-brimmed hat to wear when they began this trek, but she’d left it hanging down her back. Now she tugged it into place.

“You’re ‘bout guaranteed to have a sunburned nose tomorrow,” he told her, casting an assessing glance over his shoulder. “That’s a case of too late, you know.”

“I’ve never been very concerned with a lily-white skin.” Her nose wrinkled, and she laid fingers against it. “I suspect you’re right this time. I can feel the heat there already.”

“I’ll warrant you were a trial to your folks, growin’ up,” he suggested mildly, taking in the sight of her rosy complexion.

“You’d be right. But I cleaned up really well, once I grew up,” she added with wry humor.

His mouth pursed at her words, and he grunted in agreement. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

The horses traveled a narrow path as they neared the crest of the hill, moving along ridges that had not been apparent from far off, but had obviously been used for trails regularly. Single file, they moved along at a quick pace, Emmaline a few yards to the rear, until they broke onto level ground. Their pace picked up and the horses settled into an easy lope.

Then, with a scattering of small pebbles and dust, Matt drew his reins and held out a hand to halt her next to him. “Look, out there,” he instructed her as his other hand swept the horizon.

Before them was a valley that led into a canyon between two roughly hewn hills. A stream trickled down the center of the valley, coming from the side of the rocky heights above.

“Is that the beginning of the mountains?” she asked as she tried to trace the canyon out of sight.

“Just foothills,” he said. “The mountains are farther north, where the stream begins. It dries up down here during the hot spells, but up north a ways, it flows year-round. That’s where we send the horses.”

“It’s desolate, isn’t it?” Her eyes swept the horizon, where not a moving shadow or creature caught her gaze.

“Some folks would say so.”

She looked at him quickly. “But not you?”

He shook his head and swung his horse about with a quick movement of his reins across the cow pony’s neck. “Time to get back. Maria will have dinner gettin’ cold before we show up.”

It was gone. The sense of closeness she’d felt with him had vanished.

His glance was quick as he nudged his horse into a trot. “Can you keep up?”

She bristled and urged her own horse along. “Try me,” she called challengingly.

“One of these days, city lady,” he drawled. “One of these days, I’ll take you up on that.”

The rounded flank of the horse shone in the sunshine like warm mahogany, and with each stroke of the currycomb, Emmaline sent dust and loose horsehair flying. It was satisfying work, she decided, this grooming of horses. The sound of soft nickering from the mares and colts in the corral, the scent of hay and leather, and even the more earthy smells associated with the barn, brought back memories she cherished.

An affinity with the majestic animals had been her salvation through her childhood, when her mother had almost abandoned her, languishing in her dark, silent rooms. In the home where her grandparents observed all the rules of proper behavior and struggled to instill them in their reluctant grandchild.

She’d felt an outsider, there in that pillared mansion where guests were greeted beneath a welcoming portico. She’d greeted them herself, more than once, and smiled and talked obligingly with the finest citizens of the county. All in the cause of family. And since the death of her mother, she’d spent ten long years struggling to come up to the standards of the society her grandparents enjoyed.