Christie (8 page)

Instantly, Garrett released her, his jaw suddenly
tight, his mouth hard.

"You deceive yourself, madam. I made no promises of any permanent or long-lasting arrangements!" Garrett's eyes glittered coldly as he looked down at her startled face.

Laurette's eyes narrowed into dark slits as she took in the full meaning of his words. "So, you just thought to toy with me, dallying for a brief night or two, and then to be merrily on your way! Well, I'm no one-night doxie! Go bed yonder blonde bitch again, if that's to your liking. I'll have none of you!" And with a swing of her cloak over her shoulders, Laurette opened the door and marched resolutely down the path.

Garrett closed the door behind her and turned to face the empty room. Disgust was evident on his handsome features. So much for the pleasures of his evening! Damn, but this was Christie Trevellyan's fault! He'd been aware, sensed- with the instilled alertness that came from years of being pursued by predatory females, that Laurette had had a permanent relationship on her mind. But he had thought to keep those inclinations at bay, pushing them into the background while he found his pleasures briefly with her. Hadn't he worked a similar game in numerous previous engagements? But little Christie's game had wrecked the careful control he normally assumed in such involvements. He had been thrown off balance by it. Damn, but he owed her something for this! And with an angry gesture, he snuffed out the last candle and went to bed.

Chapter Seven

Garrett heard the stable door open and then slam shut as he bent to retrieve the hoof pick he had just dropped at Jet's feet. As it was early, he was surprised to hear someone else about. Even Trevellyan's grooms didn't materialize until after six, the very reason he had chosen such an early hour to work at cleaning' the black's hoofs. His mount was unusually touchy about who handled his feet and yesterday there had been a near disaster when one of the grooms and two stable boys had insisted such work was not fitting for Mr. Charles's guests and had tried to clean Jet's hoofs themselves. Garrett had come on them just in time to avert a nasty display on the part of his temperamental stallion; but even then, the stable crew had been outraged that the gentleman from Carolina should wish to do the task himself. Not wanting to cause a scene or create disharmony among his host's help, Garrett had invented some excuse to take Jet for a ride, suggesting they could see to the hoof-picking later. Then he had risen early this morning to attend to the matter himself. Now, he thought to himself with annoyance, one of them had

chosen to arrive unusually early and the nonsense of yesterday would commence all over again. Perhaps, if he were very quiet, the servant wouldn't realize he was here and would go away long enough for him to finish and leave. He leaned against the side of the large stall and waited, but soon a female voice told him the intruder was no stableboy.

Christie's melodic tones drifted across to him from several stalls away. "Good morning, Thunder! I've missed you, you big sweetheart! And just as I promised last night, we're taking an early ride this morning—Garrett Randall or no Garrett Randall! Besides, this time I'm up early enough to catch the jump, even on him. We'll be long gone before he or anyone else is about. And in just a couple more days, he'll be gone and we can go back to our normal schedule for good—oh, come on, now, don't go looking for more sugar than you're entitled to! Now, hold still while I remove your halter, will you?"

Garrett was undecided. Never a willing eavesdropper, he would have made a noise or some signal to make his presence known, but Christie's words had come tumbling out so quickly, he'd had little time to act, and now, having heard what she said, he was reluctant to step forth and give evidence he'd been privy to a speech not intended for his ears; the result was sure to engender a locking of horns, and this morning he was in no mood for such an encounter with the wench. Moreover, his pride would not suffer him to allow her the satisfaction of accusing him of eavesdropping, so he decided to remain hidden and give her the chance to go off on
her ride in peace.

He listened to the sounds of tack and saddle being taken from their place on the wall near Thunder's stall. He'd had no idea she'd been so discomfited by his presence that she'd taken extreme pains to avoid him. And it had cost her what he knew was one of her fondest pursuits—time with her gray. Garrett frowned. Heaven knew, he'd been fond of baiting the little chit, but he had no wish to stand in the way of her simple pleasures! He himself knew what it was like to lose oneself in a carefree solitary ride as a means of rejuvenating the spirit and washing away cares. Surely he had no right to take that away from Christie.

Suddenly he sensed his mood taking an unfamiliar turn and caught himself. Why, he'd almost allowed himself to become remorseful and sentimental over the wench! If he weren't careful, that child-in-a-woman's-body would have him acting in all sorts of strange ways unnatural to himself!

At that moment, he heard the stable door open again, and Christie obviously seemed startled by it as she called out in a voice slightly tinged with alarm, "Who's there?"

A boy's soprano replied, "It's only me, Miss Christie—Jonathan Ryan."

"Jonny! Oh, it's good to see you, sweetheart," said Christie, "but what are you doing over here so early?"

"Oh, miss, I've been an early riser for weeks, now. Ever since I came to live with Granddad—you know, since .. . since—"

Christie sighed so audibly, Garrett could hear it from where he stood. "Ah, Jonny, I
do
know. I lost a

parent myself, as you know. Of course, your mother and father were
both
torn from you, and years before their time. . . . You're taking it hard, aren't you, sweetheart?"

"No, miss, not too hard . . . that is . . . oh, Miss Christie!"

"Go on, now, Jonny. You can cry in front of me if you've the need. There's no shame in the shedding of tears for a good reason."

Garrett heard the sounds of a youngster softly sobbing. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall of the stall.

"You miss them both very much, don't you Jonny?" asked Christie.

"Aye, miss. Not that Granddad Tim isn't wonderful, sharin' his lodgin's with me and trainin' me to know horses and such, but—oh, Miss Christie, why did they both have to be in the house when it burned—or—or, why not me with 'em?"

"Now, you hush with that, Jonny Ryan!" Christie's attempt at sternness was belied by an undertone of unmistakable tenderness. "If God wanted you, he'd have taken you, but he didn't, so you'll just have to stay and make the best of it!"

"Aye, miss."

"Jonny, how old are you?"

"Be eleven next All Saints' Day, Miss Christie."

"Eleven! Why, you're almost a man, Jonny! . . . Sweetheart, I know you're grieving after your parents, and it happened only a month ago, but, Jonny, listen to me. Try to look at the positive side of it. You know, my mother was taken from me on the night I was born. I never knew her, Jonny. Now, I'll
admit, at that tender age, I was spared the pain, but I was not spared the loss. And over the years, do you know what was the hardest thing to bear? The fact that I never knew her. I would go about the house and barns, sometimes so sad, or feeling alone—you know, the way we can get sometimes, apparently over nothing—and at those moments, especially if Father was away or not available, as frequently happened, I would yearn for a mother I never knew, wish for her, somehow, to come to me, even if only in a dream, so I might come to know what she was like and then perhaps have that knowledge to take to sleep with me on certain nights, or to comfort me during a difficult waking moment. . . . But you, Jonny, you've had God's good grace to have known both your parents, and for nearly eleven good and joyful years! Ah, I tell you, sweetheart, it's a small comfort, but a comfort nevertheless! You'll always have your memories of your mother and father to hold and cherish; no one can ever take those away from you. . . . You see, Jonny, sometimes life's a tradeoff as I see it. There are balances of a kind. Now, here we stand, you and I. One of us lost a parent she never had, but was spared the other one through God's kindness; the other was fortunate enough to have had both parents, but only for a short time here on earth. Now, why, do you suppose, the two of us chanced to meet here in this stable so early of a morn.
Was
it by chance? Or by some grand design? You know, I think we can learn from each other, we human beings who travel under God's sky together, don't you?"

Answering, the boy's voice sounded much brighter. "Aye, Miss Christie, I do." Then he added, "Hey,
there, Thunder! Here's your carrot!"

"Carrot!" exclaimed Christie. "Do you mean to tell me, Jonathan Ryan, you've been making it a habit to come to Thunder's stall regularly to feed him treats?"

The boy's tone was abashed. "Aye, miss. I—I hope you don't mind. I know I'll never have the chance to ride Thunder, but I surely do enjoy visitin' with 'im and feedin' 'im a carrot or two. You're—you're not cross with me, are you?"

"Cross? Heavens, why should I be cross? I think it's kind of you to give him the extra attention he's come to expect; especially since I've been forced to neglect him myself lately. Jonny .
'.
. you've become rather expert in the saddle, haven't you?"

"Well, miss, Granddad does let me exercise Captain, and he's a fine animal."

"Exactly. So how would you like to do me a favor this morning and exercise Thunder for me?"

"Thunder! Oh, Miss Christie, you don't
mean
it!"

"Of course, I mean it, silly! I was just coming out here this morning to do it myself, but I really haven't the time, what with my birthday tomorrow, and the ball and everything. I really need this time to . . . er . . . work on my new hair style for tomorrow night, and I was just apologizing to Thunder when you came in, for having changed my mind about riding him, and feeling so guilty about it! But now I won't have to feel guilty because I'll know he has someone else who cares about him to take him out. Please— you will do it won't you?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Oh, you know I will, miss! And I'll be ever so careful with 'im, won't I,
boy? Oh, thank you, Miss Christie!"

"On the contrary, Jonny! Thank
you!
Here, let me open the door for you—all set? See you later!"

Garrett heard the stallion's hoofs moving away from the stables as he continued to lean quietly against Jet's stall. Then he heard Christie coming his way. Damn! Now he'd be forced to crouch down and conceal himself like some ninnyhammer schoolboy spying on his elders!

Christie approached the outside of the stall and stopped. "Hello, there, big fellow! How are you, Jet? Looking for a carrot, too?"

Garrett saw her slender hand reach out to pet the black's nose and cursed himself for the position he was in.

"Wait," said Christie. "I think Jonny left Thunder's carrot behind. Neither will mind if you have it. I'll bet it's more than your master's been wont to give you!"

She had just turned to go back the way she had come when Garrett heard the buzzing sound. Then he saw it. A huge diamondback, coiled and ready to strike, just a couple of yards in front of her. From his vantage point on the stable floor, he could see it easily through the opening to the stall, but he wasn't so sure Christie was looking downward, or had even heard the rattling warning. Not stopping to think further, he hurled himself through the opening just as Christie was passing by it. In a single lunging movement he threw himself into her, knocking her off her feet and against the opposite wall.

Christie opened her mouth to scream, but Garrett's hand shot out and covered it. Then the rattler warned
again and Christie saw it. Nodding her head, she indicated she understood the need to be still. Snakes couldn't hear airborne sounds, but the ground could transmit vibrations to alarm them. Garrett released his hold on her mouth, at the same time placing himself between her and the viper. Then he cast about as if looking for something. He spied a heavy iron shovel, used for cleaning out stalls, off to one side. Slowly, almost at a tortoise's pace, he reached for the tool. When he had it in hand, he raised it carefully and, ever so slowly, into the air. The diamondback sounded another warning. Then, with a crash, Garrett brought the shovel smashing down on the serpent in one mighty, death-dealing blow. The rattler twitched and arced over itself, writhing in its death throes. Garrett wielded his weapon a second time; a few more twitches, and the creature lay still. Several horses in nearby stalls were snorting and moving restlessly, eyes wild, nostrils flaring. Christie let out the long breath she'd been holding, closing her eyes while her ears continued to pick up the sounds of equine distress.

"Are you all right?" said Garrett's voice. Christie opened her eyes and saw him bending over her with a look of genuine concern on his face. What she couldn't know was that this look was also generated by a marked increase on Garrett's part in his feelings of respect for Christie, following the exchange he had just overheard between her and the Ryan boy. He had been genuinely impressed by the mature manner in which she had counseled the lad, and not a little moved by the compassion she had shown. Heretofore Garrett had, indeed, regarded her
as that "child-in-a-woman's-body," but now, he was not so sure. Indeed, having witnessed this surprising new side of her, he was not entirely sure of any of his early assessments concerning Christie Trevellyan.

"I—why, yes, I am, thanks to you," Christie replied. There was a brief silence. Then, "How— how long have you . . . that is—" Christie flushed slightly,

Garrett was very near, and she noticed how there were tiny little crinkly laugh lines near the outer corners of his eyes, accentuated by the tan of his face, for the lines' were faintly lighter in color, and she noticed how they seemed to emphasize the green of his eyes. Then she saw him grin, the old mockery replacing the serious look.

"Long enough to find out why you've been neglecting your horse," he said. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, ignoring poor Thunder like that."

"Oh!" snapped Christie, straightening. "Then you've been here long enough to come by quite an earful, I'll warrant! Tell me, sir, is your plantation noted for growing long ears as well as fine horses?"

Garrett continued to grin at her as he helped her to her feet. True to style, in Christie's estimation, he took the opportunity to let his eyes roam freely over her curving form, most apparent when she wore breeches, as now.

"Not to mention eyes that work overtime," huffed Christie. "Aren't you afraid you'll come by eye strain?"

"Not when there's something worth straining them over," Garrett answered. His green gaze
continued its work.

Christie looked up at him with murder in her own eyes, but decided to hold her tongue. Another fencing match with him simply wasn't on her calendar for today. "If you will excuse me, Garrett, I'll remove myself and relieve you of that strain this day. I have a need to . . . work on a new hair style." She pushed past him and her eyes caught sight of the dead rattler. "I thank you for protecting me from the viper—at least, the one that slithers on the ground." With this she raised her chin a notch and made her way out of the stable as Garrett's familiar mocking laughter followed her up the path.

The morning of Christie's eighteenth birthday dawned in much the same manner as those of the previous two or three weeks—bright, warm and sunny. In fact, there had been little rain for the past month, and when Christie remarked during breakfast that the sky was disappointingly cloudless and that they could use some rain for the crops, Charles laughed heartily.

"Father, what on earth strikes you as humorous? Having a shortage of rain is a serious matter, and again today, there's none in sight," retorted Christie with a slight frown.

"Oh, darlin', it's not the rain shortage I'm laughing at. It's your delightful view of it— Ah, good morning, Garrett! I wasn't aware it was so late," said Charles, checking his gold pocket watch. "Won't you sit and join us while I finish my tea? Or perhaps you haven't yet breakfasted—?"