Authors: Kate Vale
A half-hour later, she was trotting down the trail where the steep slope angled down a hill, paralleling a stream that had seemed a mere trickle near the peak of the hill and now was splashing merrily over the rocks and around partially-submerged tree stumps. Suzanna called to Sam, who had disappeared down the slope. As she looked for the dog, her right foot caught the edge of a root and she fell, twisting her ankle. Her hands slid against a mossy rock before she came to an abrupt stop. She rolled onto her side, her ankle burning.
Sam whined and leaned against her as she rubbed her foot.
She eased herself closer to the stream, pulled off her moccasin and shoved her foot into the cold water, gasping. “Maybe the cold will prevent it from swelling, or at least numb the pain,” she said to Sam.
Nearly an hour later, Suzanna was still perched
on
a log near the stream, having dunked her ankle into the water several times, but the swelling was now worse. She turned toward the woods at the sound of hoofbeats.
From her position,
the chestnut horse seemed very tall, and by the length of his legs, the rider was, too. A Stetson shaded his eyes,
but as he approached she could see that they were
blue as the morning sky, cornflower blue,
she’d read somewhere
.
The man
looked stern until Suzanna detected a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, which slowly widened into a grin. He reined the horse to a stop and swung one lean leg over
the horse’
s broad, spotted back.
She gave a start of recognition.
“
Suzanna Wallace,” he declared, gazing down at her. “Aren’t you a bit far from home?
You look like you could use some help.”
She sucked in her breath. It was him. But his ranch hand had said he wasn’t home.
“I caught my foot on a tree root and twisted my ankle.”
Her
still-puffy
ankle and bare foot rested in the mountain stream, her moccasin on the bank near the log where she sat. “I’m just dulling the pain
a bit,
before I head down the trail.” She turned her head and the breeze lifted her hair off her neck.
“Sam! Leave the horse alone,” she called to the excited Samoyed, who edged closer to the horse.
“My horse knows all about dogs. Unless Sam tries to bite Squire’s ankles, he’ll be ok
ay
.” The dog wa
gged
his tail as he approached the man and sniffed his outstretched hand.
In spite of the kindness she heard in his voice, Suzanna looked back at him with a certain wariness, but she made no attempt to remove her foot from the cold stream.
“Take your foot out of the water, and let me see how badly
you’ve twisted it
,” he ordered
, his voice soft but firm
. “Now tell me where it hurts.” He pressed
her foot and ankle in
several places.
“No, not there. Oh …
ouch! There,” she gasped, and tried to pull her ankle away.
His other hand touched her knee. “Hold still. You need some linime
nt. If it works on horses, it’
ll work on you.” He turned and pulled a plastic bottle and a large kerchief out of his saddlebag,
his
leather coat
stretching across his broad
shoulders. After drying her ankle, he rubbed the strong-scented oil on her skin, beginning just above the ankl
e and working down her foot. His eyes remained on
her face
, looking
for signs of pain. Was it his hands or the liniment that warmed her skin so quickly?
“There.” He wrapped her ankle in the cloth and slipped her moccasin back on her bare foot, then reached out a han
d and pulled her to her feet. “Now you can t
ry walking.”
Her cheeks
felt hot.
She looked down at her
ankle
to avoid his gaze and took a step. “Oh.
Better.
Ooh. Not so good.” She sat back down on the log near the stream. “I guess I did more damage than I thought.” She
looked over her shoulder at
the trail
descending the hill
. Questions buzzed in her mind like bees
near a hive
.
The
way he looked at her—his closeness felt intoxicating,
somehow
dangerous, like an adventure she dared not begin.
“How, exactly,
were you planning to
reach
the trail
head
?”
he asked as if reading her thoughts.
He sat down on the log
next to
her.
“If I could just find a stick the right size—to use as a cane, I’m sure I can
make it. It can’t be more than a mile …
”
“I don’t think so.
I’ll take you down. Slipping and sliding your way down these hills will only make that ankle worse. And, if you fall again, you could break a wrist or your leg.”
Suzanna stood up, wobbling slightly until he rose and steadied her with a hand under
one
elbow.
“People around here don’t wear moccasins in the woods. If you do any more hiking, you’d best get yourself some dece
nt boots.” He steadied her again as she balanced on one leg.
“And, u
nless you hike with someone
else
, you might want to think about bringing a gun with you. There are bears in these hills—wolves, and cougar, too—and later this su
mmer, if you’re here when it’
s warm—snakes. I doubt your dog could do much to protect you.”
She looked at the
rifle in the elongated holster
on one side of his saddle.
“
Oh,
I could never shoot an animal
.”
Her face
heat
ed
again
.
One
dark golden
eyebrow arched. His blue eyes reminded her of steel. “You would if it meant your life.”
Was he trying to scare her?
If so, he had succeeded. She wished she had
a sassy comeback, like
Okay, mister, that was scary, but I can take care of myself
.
She
reached down and felt her ankle, still wrapped in the large kerchief he had used to stabilize her foot.
He boosted her into the saddle.
“Let your feet dangle. It’ll
be easier on that ankle.” He picked up the reins, put one foot in the stirrup and settled himself behind the saddle. Squire remained still until the man lifted the reins slightly with his left hand, his right hand skimming her arm as he leaned forward, encircling her. She stiffened her back and moved forward in the saddle, away from the
feel
of his chest.
“Come on, Sam,” the man called, and the dog
trott
ed down the trail in front of the horse,
as it
carefully picked
its
way between the trees
.
They rode in silence for several minutes before he said, “You can relax. My horse knows these trails. He won’t slip.”
She
detected humor in his tone,
glad he couldn’t see her face. Could he tell that her heart was slamming her chest? The man was
…
wh
at? Better than good-looking, Penny
would say.
And why hadn’t she insisted on riding behind him, so she could put her arms around him rather than the other way around, although she wasn’t sure she’d have felt less heated holding onto him.
She had started the day with a
simple
hike in the woods, never expecting to end up on a horse with
the
man
who’d given her his business card so many months before
, his arms trapping her on a slippery saddle.
All she’d wanted was a scenic
walk
in the high coun
try.
She cleared her throat, not daring to relax against hi
s hard chest
. Over the next several minutes, she concentrated on looking between the horse’s ears, trying to anticipate the
place
ment of
the animal’s
feet
as it
moved down the trail.
When
they
neared
a rocky area,
Jonathan slid one
hand around her waist, pulling her closer
as he
leaned forward slightly and spoke
into her ear
.
“This
spot can be tricky. Lean back against me. I
t’ll help the horse.” She did as she was told, her throat catching as she felt the heat of his
solid
body against her back. He moved his legs
forward in the stirrups,
next to hers, spoon-like.
She played a mental counting game while the horse picked his way through the rocks, reminding herself that the minutes she counted probably really were
only
seconds, though the time seemed to slow as they worked their way
slowly
down the
steep
hill.
She kept her hands on the saddle horn,
will
ing
herself not to slide
sideways with each step of the horse down the slop
e
. When they finally
reached
more level ground, she asked, “Can I sit up straighter now?”
“If you’d like.”
That humorous tone again. Was he laughing at her?
His arm slid away from her body as she
eas
ed away from warmth of his chest.
The horse walked
out of the sun and into the tall pines, the breeze cooling the heat in her cheeks.
“I stopped by your place a couple days ago. I wanted to thank your son… for his help last summer. But one of your men said you weren’t there
.”
He chuckled.
“
I was in St. Paul, at a seminar
.
”
“
Oh, my gosh.” She hitched her breath. “You were there and I was here.”
“And you decided to stop by for a visit.
Are you planni
ng to hike these hills again?” His voice had that deep timbre that sent shivers down her spine.
“T
hat depends on how
long it takes my ankle to heal,
and whether I can find a decent place to stay.”
“Are you camping?”
“Uh, no. I’m a
t a motel a few miles away. It’
s not the best.” She looked up in relief as they emerged from the trees.
“My c
ar! That’s it
right there!”
“The
Army Jeep
?”
The horse’
s pace slowed as it picked its
way through the boulders edging the trailhead.
“That’s
it
.”
She leaned forward
,
and Squire picked up his pace.
“Whoa,” the voice behind her commanded and the horse slowed to a stop. “Stay right where you are.”
She wasn’t sure
whether
he was talking to her or the horse.
Jonathan
slid off, and then eased her down, holding her so that her ankle
wasn’t
touching the ground.
She maneuvered out o
f his arms, hopped over to the J
eep, and waite
d for Sam to jump into the back
seat. “Thank you for h
elping me down the mountain. I know it would have taken me longer, by myself
.” Why was he looking at her like that?
“Get yourself some decent boots before your next hike. You’ll be less likely to twist an ankle.”
“Thanks for the suggestion.” She
looked over her shoulder as she
backed the
Jeep
toward the road.
“Are you planning to come back to the ranch, now that I’m here?” he asked. “My invitation’s still good.” He smiled at her
and headed into the trees.
Before she could reply
, he had mounted his horse
and disappeared into the trees.
Her heart continued to pound.
Was it how he had looked at her, or how he had helped her
on that big horse? She sat in the car, unwilling to
leave. “Sam, I need to be
more
careful
.” She looked at the dog and patted his head when he swiped her ear with his tongue.