CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
After an hour of riding, Blake reined to a halt. KT and Belle followed suit. They had crossed several large, flat, prairielike pastures as they approached the sloping terrain that led to the mountains. KT told her they’d look for the main herd as well as strays. When the cattle began to miss the others, they’d get restless and start a slow migration back toward the ranch, where they were rounded up a few times a year, and their feed supplemented in the winter. This way, they didn’t have to ride quite so far.
“Thoughts?” KT said, turning in his saddle to look at Blake.
Belle was already hungry, but she wouldn’t dare say anything to Blake. If the men could hold out until lunch without dipping into the saddlebags, so could she. To arrive at the ranch before the men left, she and her sisters had had to rise at an absurd hour. Karen’s early wake-up knock had hardly left them time to eat. She’d gobbled down two hard-boiled eggs and a cup of coffee and thankfully accepted a stack of French toast wrapped in paper for the bumpy wagon ride out to the ranch. The clomping of Gunner’s feet covered the frequent and embarrassing growls of her empty stomach.
Blake pointed to a hill covered in large rock outcroppings. “KT, you go up and over. Belle and I’ll go around. I don’t think she’s firm enough in the saddle just yet to be pushing beeves through brush and over rocky ground.”
“I can do—”
“I’m in charge,” Blake interrupted. “At least this year. Next spring may be a different story. Until then, you’ll follow my orders.”
KT loped away without a word.
“He follows orders.”
She harrumphed.
“We’ll go this way.” He pointed with his chin to a path.
“A cattle trail?”
He nodded. “What else? We’re looking for cattle. A cattle trail seems like a smart place to start.”
Again, she realized he was right.
The trail was only a foot wide. Tender green sprouts of new grass interspersed with the long, dry stalks from last year. The land challenged her heart. What would Father say if he were riding beside me now? Would he be as happy as I feel? They followed the path around the perimeter of the hill. Blake rode along, content with his thoughts as he scanned the underbrush and shrubberies.
She resisted admiring his form. By the way he sat in his saddle, it was obvious he was exceedingly strong, but his fluid movements also reminded her of a ballet dancer. She smiled to herself, thinking how he’d hate that comparison. Wide shoulders turned this way and that like a ship’s boom, strong and straight. He glanced back to check on her often.
Those intense eyes, the way they light up when he laughs.
She’d like to know what he was thinking.
“You ever been to the ballet, Blake?”
He didn’t even turn her way. “You’re supposed to be looking for cattle.”
“I am. I can think and look at the same time.”
He twisted and regarded her, assessing her every fault, she was sure. “Why do you want to know?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Just wondered. You don’t look like a man who would enjoy the arts.” That was a lie. She wanted to see what he would say. He looked like the art himself. She made a valiant effort to appear to be searching the scrub oaks on her side of the trail. “But I could be wrong.”
He chuckled. “You are. I’ve been twice. Once in Denver, and once at a small theater in Santa Fe. I enjoyed the performance greatly.”
They rode on in companionable silence as she pictured him dressed in a suit, comfortable in a balcony seat upholstered in burgundy velvet, absorbing a romantic pas de deux between a striking prima ballerina and her handsome counterpart.
“You’re pretty quiet over there,” Blake said, breaking the silence.
“Just doing my job.” She smiled when he glanced over. “How come we’re riding so slowly? This would go much faster if we loped, or even jogged. You’re not walking because of me, I hope.”
“Nope. The last thing we want to do is startle the cattle and have them scatter. We want to sneak up on ’em and kinda suggest nicely they begin moving north, toward the ranch. If they scatter, it’ll triple our time. That’s why it’s important to have more hands to do this job. Normally, we would have had two more sets of riders going east and west.”
She thought about that a few moments. “How do you figure that?”
“Counting myself, we usually have eight wranglers. Sent out in pairs of two, we can cover all four directions. We lost three and gained one.”
“If that’s the case, shouldn’t you have sent out three teams of two?”
He shrugged and looked away.
“Blake?”
“Just watching out for your reputation. Us riding alone wouldn’t look right. At least, I didn’t think so. Besides, you’re just learning the ropes.”
Her mouth dropped open. Did he allude to us as a possible couple? She was practically promised to Lesley, but, actually, she recognized he was right. Thank heavens one of us thought this through. But does that mean he considers me a romantic interest? She cut her gaze to the top of the horizon as heat rushed to her face.
His plan made sense, and Belle couldn’t complain. If left to her own devices, and her preconceived notions, she’d have galloped up to any cattle she’d have spotted, making the chore all the more difficult. Blake’s right. I do have a lot to learn.
The warmth on her shoulders felt like a heartfelt hug from her father. All her life she’d been a meticulously clean lady, proper in all ways. The sheen of sweat on her skin now actually felt good. Earthy. She glanced over. Blake didn’t look hot at all. He was used to being out in the elements. He was as cool and collected as a cucumber-cream finger sandwich.
When she laughed, he glanced over, his face void of expression. “Something funny?”
“Just enjoying the ride.”
Belle couldn’t help but recall everything Blake had told her last night. Such a windfall of family history. She’d gathered Mavis and the rest around in the hotel room and shared how their parents had met and then married when their grandfather died. As she’d been with Blake, her sisters had sat spellbound, listening. They knew so little about their past. Their mother was alone and destitute, and their father the hero who married her to calm her dying father. The story could be in a novel, but with a teary ending instead of a happily ever after.
Affection surged into her throat as she thought of the graves back on the ranch. So much love and heartache. What would giving myself to a man I hardly knew be like? Had Mother been terrified? She glanced at Blake. Father must have been much like him, she thought. Strong. Bronzed by hours in the sun. Was he as quiet and introspective as Blake? Or loud and humorous? Belle chanced another secretive peek. She was sure Blake still had so much to tell.
“You used to like to walk down to the corral and give apples to the horses.”
She glanced over. He still looked all business, and yet he was about to give her another polished gem from her past. His memories were a part of her, locked away and out of reach. He was the connection. Somehow, out here in the wide-open sunshine, he’d picked up that she’d gotten sentimental and was remembering back.
“You and Mavis,” he went on, his deep voice mixing with the sound of insects in the background, the call of a hawk, and the footfalls of their mounts. “Your ma would watch you from the porch of the house. You two would walk down to the corral hand in hand and wait for the friendlier broomtails to come to your side of the fence. John had taught you how to hold the apple slice on your flat-open palm. I kept an eye on you from the other side of the corral. Your eyes would grow as round as walnuts until the horses’ probing lips took the treat, and then you’d burst into laughter.” He glanced over, a self-satisfied grin on his lips.
Feeding apples to horses? Do I remember that? Frustrated, she searched her mind, trying to find a trace of what Blake had said. Nothing. But there is the fact I never went to the park in Philadelphia without a sackful of sliced apples for the park ponies . . .
“Belle? You’ve gotten quiet again. That makes me nervous.”
Warmth pushed through her. “Just thinking. Trying to remember. Thank you for sharing. We’re not seeing many cattle, Blake.” Despite the clouds that had begun to gather in the sky, the sun was especially warm. “Where’s KT? Is he coming over the hill?”
“No way to tell about KT. And there may not be any cattle in this spot. That’s why it’s called a roundup. You have to be patient. They could be anywhere.”
She nodded, enjoying the ride. She thought back to when they’d first arrived in Eden, sparking a question she’d had from the start.
“Are you and Amorette sweethearts?”
The trail had narrowed, and he’d taken the lead.
Blake’s head bobbed as if in shock, and he turned to look at her, a silly grin on his face. “Who? What did you just say?”
“Don’t act like you don’t remember the beautiful woman at Mademoiselle de Sells. The two of you were friendly, so I just wondered. There’s no shame in admitting . . .”
He barked out a laugh. “No, Amorette and I are not sweethearts. She was a good friend of my wife’s, that’s all. I don’t get to see her much these days.”
The trail widened out. He pulled up and waited until she was again at his side. “So, what’s Lesley like?” His gaze challenged her. He was getting her back for asking a personal question. “You two know each other a long time?”
Except for a few moments ago, she’d not given Lesley much thought over the last several days. There had been the excitement of being on the ranch for the first time in eighteen years, and then Katie’s abduction. He’d popped fleetingly into her mind when she’d been telling her sisters how their parents met and married, but for the majority of time, Blake had commandeered her thoughts. The deep timbre of his voice had made her all but forget the sound of Lesley’s. Shamefaced, she glanced away.
“Belle? You hear my question?”
“Sure.”
Velma had introduced her to Lesley and had been in favor of the match. Belle blinked several times, having never thought of that angle before. Velma had also been very interested in the progress of their friendship. Did that mean anything? She’d never asked Velma how she knew Lesley, or what she knew about Lesley’s family business. The Atkinses and the Crowdaires didn’t travel in the same social circles . . .
“You’re taking so long to reply I thought you didn’t hear me.”
“I’ve known him about a year, and we’ve been stepping out for several months. He’s tremendously smart. He’s twenty-seven and works for the family business. They’re draftsmen, architects, and investors in real estate.” She glanced his way. He had his hat tipped up and was screwing the top back onto his canteen. “Which means they draw intricate plans for large homes, office buildings, and a few warehouses.”
“I know what an architect does. You see all those books in the ranch house? I’ve read ’em all. Your pa insisted I spend my evenings wisely. I’m well read, if nothing else.”
“That’s why you don’t sound like the other townsfolk I’ve met. I haven’t been able to put my finger on why, but that makes perfect sense.” She smiled, thinking of her father and Blake settled in comfortable chairs, blankets over their laps as they read by the light of a lantern.
“Oh, really?” His voice was thick with cynicism. “You’ve been evaluating me and comparing me to everyone else?”
“Well, yes . . .”
“And is Eden so different from your home?”
His tone reminded her of the day they’d first met in Henry’s office. When he’d hated them all for being so heartless. That felt like a year ago. “Yes, again. I’m sorry if you think I’m being uppity, but the differences are vast. Eden is nothing like Philadelphia. Nor are its people, climate, or opportunities. But that doesn’t mean I like Eden less.” She gave a small shrug. “I’m coming to like it more.”
“You’ve skillfully changed the subject from Mr. Atkins. Are the two of you getting married? I just need to know how many hands I’ll have to let go once you and your sisters take the payout and leave.”
Irritation sizzled inside Belle. “Who says we’re going to give up our shares of the ranch? We can still be owners even if we don’t live here, can’t we? After we stay the six months? That’s what Henry said.”
He looked away and rubbed his chin. They rode along, side by side, thinking about everything except cattle.
“Sure,” he drawled, cowboylike.
He’s never sounded that way before. He’s angry.
“But to get to that point, you’d have to winter in Eden. I don’t think you’re tough enough for that. This part of Colorado gets real cold, and there’re times when we’re snowed in for days. I can’t see you enjoying it that much.”
Angrier than before, she turned in the saddle and glared at him. “Don’t be selling us short, Harding. How on earth do you presume to know what’s to my liking and what’s not to my liking? And whether I’m a hothouse flower or a spiky cactus? We’ve just met. I barely know you from any of those other men I’ve seen walking down the street of that hick town you call Eden. And you certainly don’t know me!”
He nodded. “True enough.”
That’s it? That’s all he’s going to say? What nerve.
“Maybe that architect might want to move to Colorado, do a little ranching,” Blake finally said. “Did you ever consider that?”
“No, I haven’t. And I hardly think that’s a possibility. Lesley enjoys spending a day in a museum or art gallery. He doesn’t like a speck of dust on his shoes. I hardly think he’s going to walk around Eden, where manure is plentiful. Or where the only art to see is a view of the faraway mountains.”
“Doesn’t he ever work?”
The innocent tone made her want to snap. He’s baiting me. How could I be so stupid, to fall for his shenanigans?
“Of course he works! But he enjoys leisure as well.” Why am I even responding? Unsettled by Blake’s questions, she kept her face turned away so he couldn’t see her agitation. She’d enjoyed today so far, riding the lonely countryside with Blake—until he began asking all these unanswerable questions. Darn the man. She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought, but he snapped his fingers and pointed.
Twenty feet off, grazing peacefully, were about thirty steers.
“Keep quiet. I don’t want to chase ’em down if we don’t have to.”
They looked edgy, ready to bolt.
“What do you want me to do?”
Again, he rubbed his chin for several long moments. “One thing I don’t want is to get you hurt.”
“I’m not going to get hurt. Tell me what to do.”
“Fine, then. Just know if you face Gunner at a steer and the critter tries to dart away, he’ll cut the steer—I mean, cut him off. Be ready or you’ll end up on the ground. And keep your weight in your heels. There’s no shame in grabbing the horn if need be.”
He sure doesn’t think much of me. “I can ride.” She looked down at the rope tied to her saddle. “Should I get this out?”
He shook his head. “I want you to quietly ride over to that clearing and just stand there while they settle. Once they see you coming, they’re gonna get edgier than they already are. I’m gonna circle around that way, pretty far away, and then come on them from that side.” He pointed. “Then we’ll both push ’em back the way we’ve come. Slowly. Don’t be frightened of the cattle. They’re afraid of you—or I should say, your horse.”
“Blake, you’re beginning to make me really mad. I told you—I can ride!”
“On a park pony and a sidesaddle. I’ve a good memory.”
So he did. She’d been hoping he’d forgotten that statement, but she’d been wrong. She felt totally comfortable in the Western saddle. The creaky-soft seat was much too large for her, but she could manage. The saddle horn, bound with supple leather wrap, was comforting. She could grab it in case she lost her balance—which she’d only done a few times. Nothing was going to make her fall.
“That was then,” she replied, buoyed by the wonderful feeling the elements around her had created. The gorgeous cerulean sky dotted with puffy white clouds reminded her of dollops of fresh-whipped cream. The sunshine mixed with the crisp, sweet-smelling air. The fact that Blake sat on his horse twenty feet away, watching her every move, didn’t hurt either.
Excitement pushed at her insides. “As I was saying . . . that was then, and this is now. Let me show you how it’s done.” She sank into the heavy stirrups as she’d seen him do many times. “Watch and learn.”