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Authors: Elizabeth Lowell
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ears came up and she stepped eagerly into the gathering darkness.
“See you at home,” Hope said.
The words carried softly back to the man who stood motionless, watching her until she merged with the night.
Six
B Y THE TIME Hope rode into the ranch yard, she was wearing the jacket Rio had left tied behind his saddle. Despite being so tired that it was all she could do to stay awake, she almost hated to have the ride end.
Rio had been right about his mare. Dusk was the best night horse Hope had ever ridden. Most horses were balky or nervous to the point of wildness at being ridden alone into darkness. Not Dusk. She moved quietly, confidently, cleanly, like the man who had trained her. Even the sudden whistle of a startled dove’s wings hadn’t made her shy. As for the eerie harmonies of coyotes, Dusk had simply cocked her ears and walked on, unruffled.
Suddenly a rectangle of yellow light spilled out in the yard to meet Hope. Mason stood in the center of the light, silhouetted against the doorway.
“Nice pony,” Mason said, satisfaction ringing in his voice. “Rio’s?”
“Yep,” Hope said, imitating Mason’s laconic speech.
He waited, but she didn’t say any more. “Truck break down?” he asked.
“Nope.”
Mason waited.
Silence.
“You lookin’ for trouble, gal?” he asked in exasperation.
Smiling, she reined the gray mare toward the barn. “Nope. Just dinner.”
The old man mumbled something about serving her fried horse-apple pie and went back inside, banging the screen door behind him.
“Set an extra place,” she called after him.
The door slammed open again.
“Rio’s gonna do it?” Mason demanded. “He’s gonna find water for you?”
“He’s going to try.”
Mason’s whoop of triumph made the mare shy.
Hope was ready, because she had expected Mason’s reaction. Even so, she had to grab the saddle horn or get dumped in the dust. The long-legged mare was very fast.
With a wary appreciation of her mount’s speed, Hope dismounted. Her feet ached the instant they hit the ground. No matter how comfortable her battered cowboy boots might be, her feet were tired at the end of a day. So was she. She had been up since well before dawn. It would be the same tomorrow. And the day after that.
And every day until the rains came.
She led Dusk into a stall and rubbed her down thoroughly despite the fact that her arms cramped every time she lifted them above her shoulders.
“Are you hungry, girl?” she asked.
Dusk watched her with dark, liquid eyes.
“You’re not as big as Storm Walker, but I’ll bet you can eat as much as he can after carrying Rio around. That man is no lightweight.”
The horse nudged her impatiently.
Hope laughed. “All right. You’ve more than earned it.”
Humming quietly, she put several fat flakes of hay in the manger, poured grain in on one side, and hauled water for the stall trough from a spigot on the side of the house. She brushed the mare from forelock to heels, talking to her all the while. The flicking of black-tipped ears followed her words, but otherwise the mare was busy eating.
Only when Hope was certain that Dusk was content in her unfamiliar surroundings did she shut the stall door and walk slowly toward the ranch house. She was so tired that she felt like she was wading through mud. The thought of a long, hot, chin-deep bath made her want to moan.
“Then don’t think about it,” she muttered to herself. “There’s enough water for drinking and for spit baths and not one drop more.”
A basin of warm water waited for Hope in her bedroom. She peeled off her clothes, washed carefully, rinsed, and refused to let herself think about the bathtub across the hall. After a few swipes of the hairbrush through her dark, unquenchably curly hair, she went downstairs. Her stomach growled every inch of the way.
“Dinner?” she asked hopefully, hurrying into the kitchen.
“Light and set,” Mason said, gesturing toward the table.
He
“See you at home,” Hope said.
The words carried softly back to the man who stood motionless, watching her until she merged with the night.
Six
B Y THE TIME Hope rode into the ranch yard, she was wearing the jacket Rio had left tied behind his saddle. Despite being so tired that it was all she could do to stay awake, she almost hated to have the ride end.
Rio had been right about his mare. Dusk was the best night horse Hope had ever ridden. Most horses were balky or nervous to the point of wildness at being ridden alone into darkness. Not Dusk. She moved quietly, confidently, cleanly, like the man who had trained her. Even the sudden whistle of a startled dove’s wings hadn’t made her shy. As for the eerie harmonies of coyotes, Dusk had simply cocked her ears and walked on, unruffled.
Suddenly a rectangle of yellow light spilled out in the yard to meet Hope. Mason stood in the center of the light, silhouetted against the doorway.
“Nice pony,” Mason said, satisfaction ringing in his voice. “Rio’s?”
“Yep,” Hope said, imitating Mason’s laconic speech.
He waited, but she didn’t say any more. “Truck break down?” he asked.
“Nope.”
Mason waited.
Silence.
“You lookin’ for trouble, gal?” he asked in exasperation.
Smiling, she reined the gray mare toward the barn. “Nope. Just dinner.”
The old man mumbled something about serving her fried horse-apple pie and went back inside, banging the screen door behind him.
“Set an extra place,” she called after him.
The door slammed open again.
“Rio’s gonna do it?” Mason demanded. “He’s gonna find water for you?”
“He’s going to try.”
Mason’s whoop of triumph made the mare shy.
Hope was ready, because she had expected Mason’s reaction. Even so, she had to grab the saddle horn or get dumped in the dust. The long-legged mare was very fast.
With a wary appreciation of her mount’s speed, Hope dismounted. Her feet ached the instant they hit the ground. No matter how comfortable her battered cowboy boots might be, her feet were tired at the end of a day. So was she. She had been up since well before dawn. It would be the same tomorrow. And the day after that.
And every day until the rains came.
She led Dusk into a stall and rubbed her down thoroughly despite the fact that her arms cramped every time she lifted them above her shoulders.
“Are you hungry, girl?” she asked.
Dusk watched her with dark, liquid eyes.
“You’re not as big as Storm Walker, but I’ll bet you can eat as much as he can after carrying Rio around. That man is no lightweight.”
The horse nudged her impatiently.
Hope laughed. “All right. You’ve more than earned it.”
Humming quietly, she put several fat flakes of hay in the manger, poured grain in on one side, and hauled water for the stall trough from a spigot on the side of the house. She brushed the mare from forelock to heels, talking to her all the while. The flicking of black-tipped ears followed her words, but otherwise the mare was busy eating.
Only when Hope was certain that Dusk was content in her unfamiliar surroundings did she shut the stall door and walk slowly toward the ranch house. She was so tired that she felt like she was wading through mud. The thought of a long, hot, chin-deep bath made her want to moan.
“Then don’t think about it,” she muttered to herself. “There’s enough water for drinking and for spit baths and not one drop more.”
A basin of warm water waited for Hope in her bedroom. She peeled off her clothes, washed carefully, rinsed, and refused to let herself think about the bathtub across the hall. After a few swipes of the hairbrush through her dark, unquenchably curly hair, she went downstairs. Her stomach growled every inch of the way.
“Dinner?” she asked hopefully, hurrying into the kitchen.
“Light and set,” Mason said, gesturing toward the table.
He
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