Love on the Range. Jessica Nelson
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.
Blood.
The ground shifted below her. Trevor’s muscles flexed beneath her fingers as her knees lost their strength. He hauled her up and his fingers dug into her shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?” His eyes, so very dark in the morning light, searched hers.
“My pardon. The sight of blood—” she gulped “—makes me faint.”
Trevor released her and ran his hand across his chin. “You’re saying you can’t handle blood?”
Gracie knew her face must be crimson. She looked away. It was a most embarrassing disorder. “Again, my apologies.” She searched for a new topic and blurted out the first thought that came to her. “Your arms feel as though they’re hewn from rock.”
“I have reasons to stay strong.” He smirked. It transformed his face from rugged granite to soft strength.
Her heart fell faster than she could catch it.
She cleared her throat. “I suppose ranching does require strength.” She had to be mindful of her goal to find Striker for an exclusive interview. She should pick Trevor’s brain. Anything to calm her racing pulse. “Some say Striker frequents this area.”
“On to another subject now, huh?”
“Well?” They picked their way across the ground, Gracie careful to keep a respectable distance from her attractive companion.
“Who says these things?”
“The papers, people who’ve claimed to see him.”
He quirked a brow. “That so?”
“I have reason to believe he lives close by.” She studied him for a moment. “You don’t know the man, do you?” He kept walking and she shrugged. “Of course not. You do exude a dangerous edge but I don’t think you have the wild spirit to hobnob with government agents. Don’t get me wrong,” she added when he shot her a disgruntled look. “I’m sure you could handle any situation, but it’s obvious you’re a bit on the stodgy side. Besides, Striker is rumored to be an older man.”
Trevor stopped and she almost stumbled into him. He planted his hands low on his hips, looked up at the sky and groaned. His hat hung down his back. “I’m stodgy? Miss Explorer can’t find adventure in a wilderness.”
“Well, Mr. Cruz. I certainly did not mean it as an insult.”
“I know what you meant, Miss Riley.”
“Oh, look, we’re almost to the house.” Gracie pointed out the obvious and quickened her pace.
“Slow down, woman. Just meant you got a little bit of snobbishness about you.”
Snobbishness, indeed. She twisted around and eyed him. “That may be. At the moment, I do not care to debate it.”
“Ya got your skirts all twisted in a knot, don’t you, Gracie? Bet your mama wrinkles her face that way when she gets her dander up.”
Gracie didn’t remark on his outrageous words, or his sarcastic, exaggerated accent. She had one question, then she’d head up the porch steps and escape the rude man. “Do you always carry a weapon?”