Read Online Love and Honor: The Coltrane Saga, Book 7 by Patricia Hagan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patricia Hagan
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seen a Hispano before. There aren’t that many in Spain, because few people can afford them.”
“Aha!” he cried, looking around at his men in pretended delight. “The gringa knows something about horses, and I thought she only knew how to do what gringas do best—wag her tongue!”
His men laughed again, and Kit bristled, quickly informing him, “I know much about Hispanos, campesino . They’re quite rare, the result of breeding Spanish Arab mares to English Thoroughbreds, producing a horse with more pronounced Arabian characteristics than the average Anglo-Arab. It’s intelligent, has great courage, and is known for an agility that makes it a popular competition horse in every branch of equestrian sports. The Hispano can take the challenge that an ordinary horse can’t.”
Esmond threw back his head and laughed. “ Mi Dios! The señorita knows her horses!” Then he abruptly fell silent, turning black, penetrating eyes on her as he challenged, “Why did you not teach your compadres about such a fine horse, señorita ? Then they would not be so estupido as to think they can race against my Hispano and win.”
Kit met his cold, condemning stare with one of her own. “Do not call them estupido because they have confidence in their own horses, hombre . After all, that’s what you were counting on to get them to bet so you could take their money.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, exchanging amused glances with his men. “Are you also so estupido as to have such confidence in your own horse, señorita ?”
“ Si, hombre. ” The sound was like the hiss of the prairie rattler.
He threw back his head and laughed, “Ah, so you are not estupido ! You know my horse is tired after so much racing. Naturally you wish to race him now. You would easily win.”
“Race any horse against me you wish.”
His grin faded. He swung his right leg up and over the saddle, landing with both feet on the ground. He commanded to no one in particular, “Bring me the fastest horse. I will show it takes no special horse to beat a mere gringa !” To Kit, he snarled, “What shall be your stake? You do have money to wager, do you not? Galen Esmond does not waste his time for nothing.”
At that, a ripple of laughter went through Doc Frazier’s vaqueros. Riguero called gloatingly, “She is a Coltrane, hombre , and her family has more money than you will ever see.”
Galen Esmond’s insolent gaze did not waver as he coolly said, “So be it, rica gringa . Name your wager.”
“All the money you have taken from my amigos ,” Kit replied.
Galen pulled a cheroot from his shirt pocket. He bit off the end, spat, and lit it, his narrowed black eyes fixed on her. He had already given away much of his winnings in payment of old debts, but it made no difference—he was confident a gringa could not beat him. Finally he shrugged, his lips curving in a taunting grin beneath his bushy black mustache. “So shall it be, señorita . Only make sure,” he added with a wink, “that you have the money, for I can think of other ways you can pay me.”
His men laughed raucously. Kit seared them with a look of contempt, then mounted her horse. Galen’s friends quickly chose the fastest and strongest horse, and led it to him. He swung up into the saddle and followed Kit to the starting line. Riguero stood to one side, holding his gun up in the air. “You both know the rules. To where Carlos stands—” he said.
“No!” Galen interrupted harshly. “We circle him and come back here. The gringa thinks she is such a great rider—let her prove it!”
There were a few cries of protests. “That would be nearly two miles,” Riguero pointed out.
“Does the gringa object?”
Kit said that she did not, adding saucily, “Let him feel he tried very hard to win!”
Everyone laughed at that—except Galen and his men. “Let us begin,” Galen snarled. “I wish to join the rest of my amigos at the cantina to celebrate such a rich
“Aha!” he cried, looking around at his men in pretended delight. “The gringa knows something about horses, and I thought she only knew how to do what gringas do best—wag her tongue!”
His men laughed again, and Kit bristled, quickly informing him, “I know much about Hispanos, campesino . They’re quite rare, the result of breeding Spanish Arab mares to English Thoroughbreds, producing a horse with more pronounced Arabian characteristics than the average Anglo-Arab. It’s intelligent, has great courage, and is known for an agility that makes it a popular competition horse in every branch of equestrian sports. The Hispano can take the challenge that an ordinary horse can’t.”
Esmond threw back his head and laughed. “ Mi Dios! The señorita knows her horses!” Then he abruptly fell silent, turning black, penetrating eyes on her as he challenged, “Why did you not teach your compadres about such a fine horse, señorita ? Then they would not be so estupido as to think they can race against my Hispano and win.”
Kit met his cold, condemning stare with one of her own. “Do not call them estupido because they have confidence in their own horses, hombre . After all, that’s what you were counting on to get them to bet so you could take their money.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow, exchanging amused glances with his men. “Are you also so estupido as to have such confidence in your own horse, señorita ?”
“ Si, hombre. ” The sound was like the hiss of the prairie rattler.
He threw back his head and laughed, “Ah, so you are not estupido ! You know my horse is tired after so much racing. Naturally you wish to race him now. You would easily win.”
“Race any horse against me you wish.”
His grin faded. He swung his right leg up and over the saddle, landing with both feet on the ground. He commanded to no one in particular, “Bring me the fastest horse. I will show it takes no special horse to beat a mere gringa !” To Kit, he snarled, “What shall be your stake? You do have money to wager, do you not? Galen Esmond does not waste his time for nothing.”
At that, a ripple of laughter went through Doc Frazier’s vaqueros. Riguero called gloatingly, “She is a Coltrane, hombre , and her family has more money than you will ever see.”
Galen Esmond’s insolent gaze did not waver as he coolly said, “So be it, rica gringa . Name your wager.”
“All the money you have taken from my amigos ,” Kit replied.
Galen pulled a cheroot from his shirt pocket. He bit off the end, spat, and lit it, his narrowed black eyes fixed on her. He had already given away much of his winnings in payment of old debts, but it made no difference—he was confident a gringa could not beat him. Finally he shrugged, his lips curving in a taunting grin beneath his bushy black mustache. “So shall it be, señorita . Only make sure,” he added with a wink, “that you have the money, for I can think of other ways you can pay me.”
His men laughed raucously. Kit seared them with a look of contempt, then mounted her horse. Galen’s friends quickly chose the fastest and strongest horse, and led it to him. He swung up into the saddle and followed Kit to the starting line. Riguero stood to one side, holding his gun up in the air. “You both know the rules. To where Carlos stands—” he said.
“No!” Galen interrupted harshly. “We circle him and come back here. The gringa thinks she is such a great rider—let her prove it!”
There were a few cries of protests. “That would be nearly two miles,” Riguero pointed out.
“Does the gringa object?”
Kit said that she did not, adding saucily, “Let him feel he tried very hard to win!”
Everyone laughed at that—except Galen and his men. “Let us begin,” Galen snarled. “I wish to join the rest of my amigos at the cantina to celebrate such a rich
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