The Rogue (21 page)

He gestured to it and laughed. “What does the other fella look like, Holt?” At that instant, Guy turned and the Major saw his split lip and bruised cheek. His gaze returned to Holt, sharp and silently questioning.

“We sure did have us a trouble-prone time, Major,” Rube inserted. “Guy, here, falls down. Holt runs into somethin’. Diana gets her blouse torn on a bush. That white stallion tries to run our horses off, then wrecks our camp an’ destroys our food. I ain’t et since noon.”

“Is this all true?” The Major frowned when Rube recounted the mustang’s deeds.

“Embellished slightly,” Holt said.

“What—” Then he stopped. “The explanations can wait. Sophie has the food on the table. Come eat.”

When Diana reached the table, Guy was there, holding out her chair. His look glowed with ardency and her own gaze fell under it. As he pushed her chair to the table, he bent low.

“You look beautiful,” Guy murmured near her ear, “like a queen.”

“Thank you.” Diana carefully avoided glancing in Holt’s direction as Guy took the seat beside her.

At first no one spoke, too intent on filling their
empty stomachs. The Major waited patiently until he could no longer contain his curiosity.

“Tell me about the stallion.”

“He’s about fifteen hands, solid white, good conformation, and is running with a wild buckskin mare. He paces,” Holt added, almost as an afterthought.

“He what?” Diana understood the incredulous look on her father’s face. They had all experienced the same stunned surprise when they had seen it with their own eyes.

“The stallion’s a goddamned sidewheeler,” Rube inserted in affirmation. “We chased him for more’n four hours today, an’ he never once broke stride. You shoulda seen him, Major, rollin’ from side to side like a goddamned rockin’ chair. It was somethin’ to behold.”

“You are serious about this, aren’t you?” the Major said.

“Perfectly serious.” Holt helped himself to more potato salad.

“It’s the Pacing White Stallion come to life again—that’s what it is,” Rube declared. “You’ve heard stories about him, haven’t you, Major?”

“The Pacing White Stallion? Yes, yes, of course I have.” He sat back in his chair, seeming to consider the information.

“Did he really exist?” Guy asked skeptically.

“Yes, he existed,” the Major answered, then qualified it. “But I have always been of the opinion that there was more than one white stallion that was known to pace. The chronicles of the West are filled with stories about the Pacing White Stallion. He was referred to by various titles: the Pacing White Mustang, the White Steed of the Plains, and so on. You must understand that white horses were never a rarity in the Old West.”

“But a horse that paced?” Guy shook his head, hanging on to his disbelief.

“The majority of the horses in North America came from Spanish stock. The Spaniards had a strain of
natural pacers, said to pace as fast as other horses could gallop. The extinct Narragansett pacers of the East Coast are believed to have been descendants of a Spanish stallion. As a matter of fact, this pacing breed from Spain was better preserved in South America than here. I read somewhere that these South American horses were usually light-colored—gray, palomino, or white—with black skins,” the Major offered in substantiation and paused. “So it’s your theory, Holt, that this white stallion is a throwback to that Spanish blood.”

“It isn’t mine, it’s Rube’s,” Holt said. “But after what you’ve said, it seems reasonable.”

“A fascinating theory. I wish I had seen him,” the Major declared.

“Doubt if you’ll get a chance now. We chased him clear into Utah.” Rube’s words were muffled by a mouthful of sandwich.

“We came close to the line. I don’t know if we crossed it.” Holt wouldn’t let Rube exaggerate the length of the chase.

“But you think the stallion will come back,” Diana reminded Holt of his comment out on the mesa.

Holt seemed reluctant to answer, but finally admitted a cool, “Yes, I think he will.” He glanced at the Major. “It might be best if we keep all the mares close to the ranch yard for the next week or so.”

“Do whatever you feel is necessary,” he said.

“With Shetan dead and Fath injured, we’ll be needing a new stud.” Holt shifted the subject. “I’ll start making phone calls tomorrow to see what I can find. Depending on what’s available, I’ll either lease a stallion or buy.”

Diana stared, aware that Holt had neither asked nor consulted the Major about his plan. He had simply informed her father of what he was going to do. The discussion became centered on the merits of various bloodlines. Diana didn’t take part, Holt’s announcement nagging at her.

Covertly, she studied her father. Age and illness had taken their toll. The Major was no longer the strong, indomitable man of her youth. His dark hair was steadily graying, his tan fading into a pallor, jowls sagging his once firm jawline. Tiny tremors shook his hands.

Somehow, she had thought he would recover. Now Diana realized he would never again be the man he once was. There were glimpses of his former self, but they were shadows without substance. The Major had turned over his command to an outsider and had become merely a figurehead. He seemed suddenly a pathetic man, and her heart cried out at the change. He was old and weak and sick. She was overwhelmed by an urge to hide him from the eyes of others.

Diana interrupted the conversation. “It’s getting late, Major.” And she immediately felt like a mother reminding a child of his bedtime.

“What?” He looked at her blankly for an instant. “Oh, yes, so it is.”

The meal was finished. There was no more reason for the others to linger. Holt took the hint and pushed his chair away from the table, rising to his feet.

“Excuse us, Major. I think we’ll call it a night, unless there is something else you want to go over with me.”

Diana bristled at the patronizing words, pretending the Major was still in charge when Holt knew he wasn’t. Who did he think he was fooling?

“No, I don’t think so,” her father responded, his tiredness showing. “Floyd can fill you in.”

As Diana rose to hurry the others on their way, Guy was on his feet beside her, his low voice eager and questioning: “Diana—”

She didn’t know what he was going to ask, but she cut him short. “I’m tired, Guy.” She moved to her father’s chair, her fingers curling around the wooden posts of the chair back, her attitude protective and possessive. “Good night.” She directed it to all three
of the men and received the same response as they left, Rube hastily wrapping two sandwiches in a napkin to take with him.

When they were alone, Diana said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to dry my hair and go to bed,” as a means of prompting the Major into getting the rest he so badly needed.

“I am tired, too,” he agreed. “These last few days must have been quite an adventure for you.”

“Yes, they were.” Diana hid the fact that they had been anymore than that. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he echoed.

The Major was at the breakfast table the next morning when Diana entered. He looked rested after his night’s sleep, and it eased some of her concern.

“Good morning, Major,” she greeted him cheerfully. “Good morning, Sophie,” she added when the housekeeper appeared. “Just toast and juice this morning, please.”

“Yes, Miss.” The housekeeper retreated to the kitchen.

“It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Diana poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn.

“It certainly is.” The Major eyed her indulgently. “But something tells me you have more on your mind than the weather.”

“You guessed right.” She was glad she didn’t have to find a way to lead into her subject. “Last night I did some thinking and decided I should take over some of the ranch responsibilities while you are recovering.”

“Holt is pretty well in charge of everything,” he reminded her.

Don’t I know it,
Diana thought, but said, “I know you’ve had to depend on him a great deal. Under the circumstances, there wasn’t anyone else you could delegate authority to, but I’m home now. There isn’t any work on the ranch that I don’t know firsthand, through the sweat of my own brow, you might say.” She laughed, trying to keep it all light. “There isn’t any
reason I shouldn’t take over the responsibilities. Holt has done a good job, but you have said yourself that no one takes care of somebody else’s property as well as he would his own.”

“That’s true,” he conceded.

“Besides being capable and experienced, I want to get involved. It’s only natural since I am your daughter,” she reasoned, “and this is my home, too.”

“I can hardly argue, can I?” The Major looked vaguely pleased.

“I hoped you couldn’t.” She couldn’t keep a triumphant smile from curving her lips.

“I’ll discuss it with Holt at lunch.”

A confused fire sparkled her blue eyes. “Why do you need to discuss it with him?”

“You don’t remove a valuable man from his command without a private talk first, unless you want a mutiny on your hands. It requires tact,” he explained with more than a trace of indulgence. Sophie returned with Diana’s toast and juice and immediately disappeared into the kitchen. “We’ll talk to Holt at noon,” the Major said. “After you’ve finished your breakfast, find him and ask him to come to the house early if he can.”

“All right,” she agreed readily.

There was a spring to her stride when she later walked down the incline to the ranch buildings. Horses and riders were gathered near the stable. Guy she recognized, but Diana could find no sign of Holt. Separating himself from the other riders, Guy rode to meet her.

“Hi.” He stopped in front of her, a beaming smile lighting his face. “Would you let Sophie know that Holt won’t be here for lunch?”

“Why? Where is he?” A flash of irritation issued the questions in a rapid-fire burst.

“He left early this morning to go look at some stallions—said he wouldn’t be back until late tonight.” There was a faintly bitter twist to his mouth. “Good riddance, I say.”

Her lips thinned into a tight line. “He certainly isn’t wasting any time trying to acquire a new stallion.”

“We have three mares coming in season and no stud to service them.” Guy wasn’t defending, merely explaining.

“Yes, you’re right.” But it didn’t lessen her sensation of frustration.

“Holt left orders to bring the mares and colts to the inner paddock. That’s where we’re going now,” he said. “Why don’t you ride along with us?”

“No.” It was an absent refusal, her attention already wandering from Guy.

“All you ever say anymore is no.” He read the rejection in her look. “Why don’t you just tell me to get lost? That’s what you used to do.”

Diana turned back to him, her hand lifting to protest, but Guy was already reining his horse around to rejoin the other riders, his features set in angrily hurt lines. Diana didn’t call him back.

When she went to bed that night, Holt still hadn’t returned, and the message still had to be delivered. After breakfast the next morning, she again ventured into the ranch yard in search of him.

Diana stopped one of the men. “Where is Holt?”

“In the stables treating one of the mares.”

“Thanks.” She was already walking away. In the stable, she found Holt and one of the hands in the stall with Cassie, treating the bites inflicted by the white stallion. Diana stepped inside the spacious stall. “I’ll hold her. You can go, Tom,” she told the man at the mare’s head.

Before the man relinquished his hold on the halter, he glanced at Holt for confirmation of the order, then obeyed it. That didn’t set well with Diana. Before she had married and left, no one had questioned an order from the Major’s daughter. It was another indication of the subtle changes that had occurred in her absence.

With a firm grip on the halter, she talked soothingly
to the mare, letting Holt finish his task before explaining why she was there. He stepped away from the mare’s hip and capped the bottle of antiseptic.

“Did you find a stallion?” Diana asked first.

“Maybe.” At last, he glanced at her, appraising gray eyes sweeping over her. “But that isn’t what brought you here. What do you want?” Blunt and to the point.

She felt her senses stirring to the virile force of his presence, a purely physical reaction that she couldn’t control. Holt appeared totally indifferent to her.

“The Major wants to talk to you. You are to come up to the house early for lunch.” Her voice shook slightly as she relayed the message.

“I can’t. I won’t be here at noon.” Holt walked out of the stall into the wide stable corridor. “Tell him I’ll be there this evening.”

Diana followed him, stiff-legged with anger. “The Major says ‘Come’ and you say ‘Wait.’ There was a time you would have jumped at his bidding!”

“I have never jumped,” Holt corrected. “I did what he asked me, and I still do. If he was aware I had made a previous appointment, he would be the first to postpone our meeting. And if it was vital that he see me, he would say, ‘Come now.’ “

Any response Diana might have made was checked when she stepped outside and saw a pickup driving into the yard, bearing a government insignia on its door. Irritation forgotten, Diana hesitated, glancing at Holt.

“What do you suppose he wants?” She nibbled at the corner of her lip. “We’ll find out shortly.”

The pickup stopped in front of the main house. Together, Diana and Holt walked toward it. A short, squat man in his mid-forties climbed out, dressed in typical work clothes of Levi’s and plaid shirt, a straw Stetson on his head. He started for the house, then saw them approaching and stopped.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Diana returned his greeting with her most disarming smile. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“It might be the other way around.” His voice was gruff, but his expression was pleasant. “My name is Keith Jackson. I’m with the Bureau of Land Management, here to see Mr. Somers.”

“I am Diana Somers, his daughter.” As she responded, the man politely removed his hat, revealing a shiny and balding head. “My father isn’t very well. Perhaps I could help you.”

The man glanced hesitantly at Holt as if he was reluctant to speak to a woman. Holt extended a hand in greeting. “I’m Holt Mallory, the Major’s ranch manager.”