Read Online Love and Honor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 7 by Patricia Hagan - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Hagan
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always enjoyed riding with them. She had even raced with them, winning often, because Belle was quite a horse. Suddenly the idea of having fun with them was more inviting than her intended ride to the river.
Kit approached at a fast clip. Catching sight of her, one of the men yelled to the others, “ Hola! Señorita Coltrane!”
They all turned to greet her, surprising her with their enthusiasm. Doc Frazier’s foreman, Riguero, cried excitedly, “ Señorita , you must win back our gold for us. He has beaten our best!”
Kit dismounted, pushing her felt hat back on her forehead and loosening the lanyard beneath her chin as she looked around. She saw several men she didn’t recognize, wearing smug expressions. Her old friends seemed quite upset. “Maybe,” she said quietly, “you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
“They come, these strangers,” Riguero said with an accusing wave toward the strangers who stood watching in amusement, “with their leader. They challenge us to race, and he beats us and takes our money. You can win it back for us.”
Kit frowned. She had dash-raced many times, but never for money. If Doc Frazier knew what his vaqueros were up to, he would not like it one bit. “I don’t think so,” she told him curtly.
“But you must, señorita ,” another of the vaqueros spoke up. “Belle is the fastest horse on the ranch, and you ride her so well. You are our only chance!”
Kit sighed in disgust. “Why did you race for money in the first place? You know that Doc would never approve.”
“You do not understand,” Riguero bid her with an angry glance at the strangers as they laughed among themselves. “The strange hombre , he comes in with his horse and says he is the best. He goads us. Makes us feel like cowards if we do not accept his challenge. And so we do, and we lose.”
“Well, was it a fair race?” Kit wanted to know.
Doc Frazier’s vaqueros nodded reluctantly. Shuffling their feet, they exchanged miserable glances.
“Well, then, let it be a lesson to you not to bet in the future.” She swept the strangers with an angry look. “Especially with people you don’t know anything about.”
“Maybe when you know them, you will like them.”
Kit whirled about to see a man behind her astride a horse. It was not the rider who caused her to stare in wonder, even though her first glance told her he was not an average vaquero. Doc’s men did not wear bandoleers—cartridge belts crisscrossed on their chests. This man looked formidable, was perhaps a true bandido —but it was his horse that caught Kit’s attention. He was the finest animal she had ever seen.
The man leaned forward in his saddle to stroke the great horse’s neck proudly. Flashing gleaming white teeth from beneath a bushy black mustache, he grinned knowingly and said, “Ah, you like the horse, si ? He is one fine animal, si ?”
“Beautiful,” Kit breathed in admiration, “absolutely beautiful.”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man removed his sombrero and gave her a sweeping bow from the saddle. “I am Galen Esmond, and I have to tell you never have I met so lovely a señorita in all of Spain.”
“ Gracias ,” Kit responded quietly, unimpressed.
Then she asked brusquely, “Why did you come here and goad these men into betting their hard-earned pay?”
To the delight of his men, who were chuckling as he spoke, he pretended innocence. “Ah, señorita , do not judge me so harshly. I am but a poor gitano —a gypsy, wandering through Spain. I come here, and these men, they goad me to race them.”
Frazier’s vaqueros shouted in protest, and Kit waved them to silence. Galen Esmond spread his hands in mock despair. “Is it my fault they do not recognize a fine horse, and do not realize they have no chance to beat me?”
Kit said, “I don’t believe they challenged you, any more than I believe you’re just a poor, wandering gypsy. I can believe, however, that they’ve never
Kit approached at a fast clip. Catching sight of her, one of the men yelled to the others, “ Hola! Señorita Coltrane!”
They all turned to greet her, surprising her with their enthusiasm. Doc Frazier’s foreman, Riguero, cried excitedly, “ Señorita , you must win back our gold for us. He has beaten our best!”
Kit dismounted, pushing her felt hat back on her forehead and loosening the lanyard beneath her chin as she looked around. She saw several men she didn’t recognize, wearing smug expressions. Her old friends seemed quite upset. “Maybe,” she said quietly, “you’d better tell me what this is all about.”
“They come, these strangers,” Riguero said with an accusing wave toward the strangers who stood watching in amusement, “with their leader. They challenge us to race, and he beats us and takes our money. You can win it back for us.”
Kit frowned. She had dash-raced many times, but never for money. If Doc Frazier knew what his vaqueros were up to, he would not like it one bit. “I don’t think so,” she told him curtly.
“But you must, señorita ,” another of the vaqueros spoke up. “Belle is the fastest horse on the ranch, and you ride her so well. You are our only chance!”
Kit sighed in disgust. “Why did you race for money in the first place? You know that Doc would never approve.”
“You do not understand,” Riguero bid her with an angry glance at the strangers as they laughed among themselves. “The strange hombre , he comes in with his horse and says he is the best. He goads us. Makes us feel like cowards if we do not accept his challenge. And so we do, and we lose.”
“Well, was it a fair race?” Kit wanted to know.
Doc Frazier’s vaqueros nodded reluctantly. Shuffling their feet, they exchanged miserable glances.
“Well, then, let it be a lesson to you not to bet in the future.” She swept the strangers with an angry look. “Especially with people you don’t know anything about.”
“Maybe when you know them, you will like them.”
Kit whirled about to see a man behind her astride a horse. It was not the rider who caused her to stare in wonder, even though her first glance told her he was not an average vaquero. Doc’s men did not wear bandoleers—cartridge belts crisscrossed on their chests. This man looked formidable, was perhaps a true bandido —but it was his horse that caught Kit’s attention. He was the finest animal she had ever seen.
The man leaned forward in his saddle to stroke the great horse’s neck proudly. Flashing gleaming white teeth from beneath a bushy black mustache, he grinned knowingly and said, “Ah, you like the horse, si ? He is one fine animal, si ?”
“Beautiful,” Kit breathed in admiration, “absolutely beautiful.”
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The man removed his sombrero and gave her a sweeping bow from the saddle. “I am Galen Esmond, and I have to tell you never have I met so lovely a señorita in all of Spain.”
“ Gracias ,” Kit responded quietly, unimpressed.
Then she asked brusquely, “Why did you come here and goad these men into betting their hard-earned pay?”
To the delight of his men, who were chuckling as he spoke, he pretended innocence. “Ah, señorita , do not judge me so harshly. I am but a poor gitano —a gypsy, wandering through Spain. I come here, and these men, they goad me to race them.”
Frazier’s vaqueros shouted in protest, and Kit waved them to silence. Galen Esmond spread his hands in mock despair. “Is it my fault they do not recognize a fine horse, and do not realize they have no chance to beat me?”
Kit said, “I don’t believe they challenged you, any more than I believe you’re just a poor, wandering gypsy. I can believe, however, that they’ve never
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