Diane R. Jewkes (10 page)

The corral bars, weathered by the sun and carved by the wind, looked too fragile for the job of holding cattle. Beyond the bars, Hawke saw the dust stirred by the milling herd of cows glimmer in the golden morning light. The sounds of cowboys calling to each other, mingled with the bellows of the mother cows and the higher-pitched call of the calves, had a rhythm and melody all its own, different but not unpleasant.

“They’ve brought in the animals.” Kara nodded towards the fire on the outside of the fence. “And now they’re having something to eat before they get to work branding and doctoring. I don’t know how familiar you are with the way we work cattle out here, so if you have any questions … .”

“I have read some on the techniques used by ranchers, and I am sure I will be bedeviling you for explanations,” he said, smiling as they stopped their horses at the fence.

Dismounting, he noticed the men went first to a large water barrel with their tin cups, drinking deeply from there before going over to the battered coffee pot on the fire.

He recognized Luis, Eddie, Darcy, and Joe from his arrival at the train station. There were several other men sitting on logs, eating. He watched Kara walk over to the fire, reach down, grab a thick pad and pick up the pot and pour a cup of hot coffee. Holding the steaming cup between her hands, she started talking to Darcy and Joe about the work so far. He watched as they discussed the work planned for the day. The cowboys didn’t seem to see her as a woman. In this place she was seen not as small and incapable, but as an equal. She commanded the area with the same confidence and grace he had seen from women in the fashionable salons of London.

Catching his eye, she nodded towards the fire. “Too bad we ate already. Luis makes a mean batch of griddle cakes and steak. Smells so good I could almost eat again.”

Inhaling deeply, he noted the scents of wood-smoke, coffee, horses, and dust. Another fragrance, more subtle, assailed his senses, delicate, floral, and feminine. The allure pulled him. Looking at the woman across from him, he was struck by how at ease and happy she appeared. Here in a place no woman he had ever known in his life would want to be.

Turning, he watched the cowboys around him. They were spare men, lean but not weak. Like the wood of the corral, they had been honed by the elements, tempered by hard lives until they adapted to this world. They ate efficiently, silently, as men used to eating outside do. These men, like the soldiers he had served with, ate the food with relish, finishing the meal almost as soon as it had been cooked.

“Well, I do think I’ll try some of Luis’ steak and griddle cakes.” He laughed patting his stomach as it grumbled with hunger. “I have rather a lot of extra room and can hold more food than most.”

• • •

Kara couldn’t help but laugh at the lopsided grin on his face, watching him step forward to help himself to a large steak and a pile of griddlecakes. She knew he was working hard to make her like him.

He was right, she thought, admiring the height and breadth of him. He certainly did have a lot of space. Smiling at the way he intently watched everything around him, she could see his name suited him. Nothing seemed to get by those intense, probing silver eyes.

He towered over most of the cowboys who were making room for him on the log near the fire. Their eyes met over the fire, a shared moment of easy smiles. Turning to talk to one of the other cowboys, she didn’t miss that intense silver gaze lock on her.

She walked around the fire to sit next to him. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.

“Just thinking how you’d look amongst the glittering ballrooms of London.”

She tilted her head quizzically at the statement, his tender gaze creeping past her defenses.

“Why ever would you have such a thought? Do you think I don’t know what it’s like? I have been in the ballrooms in Virginia, and while I will admit I do love to dance and wear beautiful gowns, after a while it becomes deadly dull. The same people, the same gossip, I swear they’re worse than a flock of sheep and I don’t enjoy having to kowtow to the matrons, or their flabby sons,” she snorted, “who feel some sense of entitlement not because of what they do with their hands, but just because of their name.”

“I understand completely. It is surprising, however, to hear it from a young lady. I thought women lived for the social whirl.” His eyes sparkled with laughter at the rude noise she made.

“Not me. I’d rather dance to the music I hear out here.”

“Kara!” Joe yelled from the pen. “You gonna’ dawdle all day, or you gonna’ put yer seat in that saddle and get to work.”

Kara blinked, the spell broken. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hawke lower his hand. She saw the warmth in his eyes and wondered if he would have touched her if they had not been interrupted, and what she would have done if he had.

“I believe Joe mentioned something about your seat in a saddle.” His voice broke through her musings. Trying to regain her composure as she stood, irritated at how hard it was, Kara straightened her shoulders and walked over to her horse.

“And a lovely seat it is.”

She whirled around. It had been said so softly she wasn’t sure she had heard it. A wicked grin was on his face. She knew he was teasing with her, still trying to get past her defenses. Struggling between irritation, embarrassment and the urge to laugh, she was speechless at his audacity.

“You … ooh … ” She huffed, not knowing quite how to react, then waved her hand dismissively at him. “Just go over to the fence and watch. Maybe you’ll learn something … tenderfoot.”

Hawke laughed, sketched a bow, and sauntered over to the pen.

Tightening her girth strap, she tugged hard enough to bring a grunt from Gally, who swung his head around to see what she was doing to him. “Sorry, buddy,” she patted him on the neck, gathered the reins, put her foot in the stirrup, grasped the saddle horn, pulled herself up, and headed for the pen, vowing to forget about those laughing silver eyes and the heat they caused.

• • •

Hawke leaned his forearms on the top rail, resting one foot on the lower rail, and watched the work in the pen. The rhythm of the men reminded him of a well-drilled military unit. The calves bunched in a corner of the pen, tails twitching and stirring the dust with their nervous movements, as a cowboy, on his small wiry stock horse, waded into the group. A loop of his rope dangled motionless from his hands. Spotting the calf he wanted, the rope came over his head, he gave it two or three quick twists of his wrist, and then with a flick it snaked out over the calf’s head, dropping around his neck. He pulled the calf, bucking and fighting, from the bunch. As they neared the branding fire, two more men approached the calf on foot, flipped the animal on its side and proceeded to work. The right ear was marked with the Ladder J single slant cut. One of the men quickly castrated the calf with a sharp knife, tossing the testicles into the fire where they sizzled and popped in the orange coals. Still holding the calf down another man pulled the glowing iron from the fire and put the Ladder J cattle brand on the animals’ side. The calf was released. Standing on shaky legs the calf trotted off shaking its head, bawling, looking for its mother. Hawke watched as Joe marked the information about the calf and its mother in a ledger.

He was fascinated with the seamless rhythm and flow of the work. There was no excess motion and though done quickly, the calves were not treated with undue roughness.

Absorbed in the scene before him, he almost missed Kara riding into the pen. She was guiding her horse with her knees, as she tugged on her leather work gloves, the reins wrapped around the saddle horn. Once her gloves were on, she tugged loose the rope tied to her saddle and began shaking out the loop. Hawke watched the fluid grace of her body as she stood in the stirrups and took a few practice twirls with the rope. Settling down in the saddle, she approached the calves, looking to pick one out of the group.

Her movements reminded him of a cat stalking sinuously amongst a flock of birds looking for prey.

“You watch her, Pryce, she can teach you a thing or two about working cattle,” Joe said, coming up beside him. He nodded but didn’t turn from watching the woman and the horse.

Kara raised her arm over her head, twirling the rope slowly at first, then picking up speed as she picked out a calf. Standing slightly in the saddle she let the loop fly, snagging one. Turning her horse around, the rope came taut across her thigh as her horse moved steadily forward, the reluctant calf bounced and bucked behind her.

“Case and I taught her to ride, but it was Secondino and the charros taught her how to rope. No one handles a rope better than those Mexican cowboys. Hell, there’s things that little gal can do with a rope that would amaze you.”

Hawke looked at the foreman, an eyebrow quirked up in question. Joe cleared his throat, and looked down at his tally sheet.

Looking back toward the pen, he smiled at the thought of her and her rope and a large comfortable bed, and the tricks he could teach her.

Kara’s rope had been released from the calf and she headed back towards the remaining animals to bring out another calf. One, bolder than the rest, tried to bolt; she lowered her reins to the horse’s neck, and leaned back in the saddle, gripping the horn with her other hand in a silent signal. Dropping his head, the gelding went to work moving quickly back and forth, keeping the calf where he wanted him.

Recognition struck Hawke like a thunderbolt as he watched the strange dance before him.

“She was the one we saw the day we rode in,” he stammered, shooting Joe an accusing look. “Why didn’t you mention then the rider was the owner’s daughter?”

“Would you have believed me?” The question came quietly, bringing him up short.

“I’m not sure.” Another memory stirred. “Didn’t you also say she trained the horse herself?” At Joe’s nod, he turned back, amazed.

“Okay, Kara,” Joe shouted. “Quit showing off. Hawke is suitably impressed. Get back to work.”

The stiffening of her spine told Hawke the remark did not sit well.

• • •

Kara shortened the reins, pulling the gelding up as she loosened her rope and went back to work.

“Showing off for that man,” she muttered under her breath. “Not likely.”

An accusing voice in her head argued she was doing exactly that, trying to prove to him she was every bit as capable as he had been told. She didn’t know why, but she wanted him to admire and approve of her abilities. Of her. She knew she couldn’t possibly compare to the sophisticated women he was used to. Did she want to compare? Distracted by her thoughts, she had to quickly pull her hand out of the way as a calf hit the end of her rope snapping it tight. Realizing she could get hurt if she didn’t keep her wandering thoughts under control, she forced herself to concentrate on the job before her.

• • •

The day wore on and Hawke spent time questioning the hands about their various jobs and how they contributed to the running of the ranch.

During some slack time, he asked Secondino to teach him how to rope. After several aborted attempts, he finally got a loop going and was aiming the rope at a fence post when he saw Kara watching him from the back of her horse.

Her leg was hooked loosely over the horn, mimicking a sidesaddle, her arms crossed on her knee and she was bent slightly forward watching him. She smiled at his attempts to get control over the wobbly rope.

“Not much use, is there, Mr. Pryce? Knowing how to throw a rope when you return to those fancy parties in London?”

Flashing a grin at her, his gaze raked over her body slowly, seeing the challenge in her eyes.

“Now, I don’t know.” He eyed the rope first, then her, quirking a brow. “It could save some time, should I desire some young lady’s company.” Swinging the rope back and forth, he looked at her again with a mischievous grin. “Kind of like casting a fishing line in a deep stream.”

Kara laughed out loud. “I can see it. A ballroom full of people, then, out of the dark, a rope sails over the glittering party, landing on an unsuspecting proper miss. Some well-dressed young woman bucking and tugging at the end of the rope while you pull her to you. What would you do then? Throw her and hog-tie her so she couldn’t get away?” She threw her head back, the laughter flowing freely.

Hawke was entranced with this new side of her. Gone was the wary, resentful child, replaced by a woman comfortable enough to tease him and laugh with him. She lowered her head and looked at him and he almost forgot to breathe. Her eyes were shining with laughter and her lips were full and soft, her smile showing strong white teeth. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate rose from the laughter and at that moment he couldn’t deny the desire he felt. His heart thudded in his chest and a wave of heat slammed through his body. He barely contained the groan rising from his chest. He didn’t know what it was about her, but God, he wanted this woman in a way he had never felt for another. The urge to possess her and make her completely his overwhelmed him again.

The laughter died on Kara’s lips. Gone was the easy humor, replaced by a deep smoldering blaze lighting his eyes from within. They were the color of gathering storm clouds and the silver ring around the outside almost glowed. Even from the back of her horse she could feel the raw need emanating from him as he held her with his eyes.

A shiver danced down her spine as her body responded to the desire in his eyes. Her skin became sensitive to every breeze, a jangling in her belly sent waves of tingling heat skittering through her, pooling hotly between her thighs. Her shirt rubbed against too sensitive nipples, making them harden as a pleasurable ache spread through her in a primal response.

Lust. Raw and uncontrolled. She tried to corral her riotous thoughts and cool the heat dancing across her skin.
I can’t want this man. He’s everything I’m fighting against.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out his hypnotic gaze and the sensations swirling around her. She felt a moan rising in her chest and fought to suppress it before it crossed her lips. Unable to resist the pull, she opened her eyes and was caught in the swirl of sensuous heat promised in those stormy eyes. She knew she was lost when her rebellious imagination conjured the feel of his fingers warm on her skin, caressing, arousing. Breaking eye contact, she looked around frantically, hoping no one else had noticed what was happening between them.