Edwin Forester. “I’ve got to get back to town. I’m meeting my friend Fern for lunch at about one o’clock.”
Rio shaded his dark face with one big hand and looked at the sun. “I’d say you’re late.”
“Oh, goodness. If I don’t show up, she’ll go looking for Uncle Trace and there’ll be trouble.”
“Imagine that. I’d like to be there to see that.”
“It may be awhile before the senator gets back. He’s gone for help at a farmhouse about a mile up the road.”
“I know the place. That’s where I was headed to see if they had any horses that needed shoeing when I came across you.”
She looked up at him. “Are you just going to leave me here?”
“Si.”
He pushed his black Stetson to the back of his dark hair. “You’re not in any danger and since the senator is too stupid to get his own buggy out, I reckon he’ll bring help.”
“I’ll pay you to give me a ride back to town.” She kept her voice lofty as she leaned over and wrung some of the water out of the soggy aqua dress.
It was the wrong thing to say; she knew it immediately. “Senorita, I am not a paid servant. I was about to offer my help, but I can’t be bought. Besides, don’t you think you’ll be embarrassed to come down Congress Avenue in a soaked dress, riding behind a lowly Mexican vaquero? What would people think?”
She drew herself up as proudly as she could, standing there in that wet dress and squishy shoes. “Never mind. I’ll wait for Edwin to return.”
His eyebrows went up. “Edwin? You call him Edwin?”
“What do you care? If I don’t get back, Uncle Trace may find out and go gunning for the senator.”
“Half the people in Austin would pay to see that little drama. Well,
adios,
Miss Sanchez. That means—”
“Damn it, I know what it means!” she shouted at him.
“
Hasta la vista
then.” He tipped his hat with a smile and rode back the way he came.
She watched him with an incredulous stare as he rode away. “You come back here!” she yelled, but he didn’t even turn his head. His stallion broke into a lope and the pair rode out of sight.
She had never been so angry in her life. People had always danced attendance on her every whim and here was a poor vaquero who had turned down her money, given her tit for tat and left her standing here. She was steaming, but there was nothing to do but sit down under a tree and wait for Edwin Forester to return. In the meantime, she waded down the creek and rescued her soggy lace hat.
Rio rode back to his blacksmith shop and slowly unsaddled his horse. He would have given that little spitfire a ride back to town, but then she had started ordering him about and offering to pay him like he was some errand boy. He didn’t feel right about leaving a lady out on the roadalone, but it was daylight and the senator was only a short distance away. Rio thought about spending the night in jail because of that pair and gritted his teeth. It served them both damned well if they had to deal with her overprotec-tive guardian.
He put away his horse and was firing up his forge when his little spotted dog, Tip, began to bark. Rio looked out the open door. A man in a buggy was driving up and stepping down.
“Hello there,
hombre,
” the man called. “We need to talk.”
“Buenas tardes.”
Rio came out to meet him and noted the man was maybe close to forty, dark, and wearing a short, expensive Spanish jacket and flat western hat.
“I am Trace Durango.” The man stuck out his hand.
Uh-oh. Rio shook it, thinking about the girl. “What brings you to my small place, senor?”
Trace looked around, then reached down to pat the small mongrel. “I looked at the job you did on my ward’s mare yesterday. You did a good job, senor.”
“
Gracias.
I do my best.”
“I’ve got a lot of horses out at my ranch and my farrier has gone to Mexico City to visit relatives for a while. Might I persuade you to spend a week or two at the Triple D and do some
Rio shaded his dark face with one big hand and looked at the sun. “I’d say you’re late.”
“Oh, goodness. If I don’t show up, she’ll go looking for Uncle Trace and there’ll be trouble.”
“Imagine that. I’d like to be there to see that.”
“It may be awhile before the senator gets back. He’s gone for help at a farmhouse about a mile up the road.”
“I know the place. That’s where I was headed to see if they had any horses that needed shoeing when I came across you.”
She looked up at him. “Are you just going to leave me here?”
“Si.”
He pushed his black Stetson to the back of his dark hair. “You’re not in any danger and since the senator is too stupid to get his own buggy out, I reckon he’ll bring help.”
“I’ll pay you to give me a ride back to town.” She kept her voice lofty as she leaned over and wrung some of the water out of the soggy aqua dress.
It was the wrong thing to say; she knew it immediately. “Senorita, I am not a paid servant. I was about to offer my help, but I can’t be bought. Besides, don’t you think you’ll be embarrassed to come down Congress Avenue in a soaked dress, riding behind a lowly Mexican vaquero? What would people think?”
She drew herself up as proudly as she could, standing there in that wet dress and squishy shoes. “Never mind. I’ll wait for Edwin to return.”
His eyebrows went up. “Edwin? You call him Edwin?”
“What do you care? If I don’t get back, Uncle Trace may find out and go gunning for the senator.”
“Half the people in Austin would pay to see that little drama. Well,
adios,
Miss Sanchez. That means—”
“Damn it, I know what it means!” she shouted at him.
“
Hasta la vista
then.” He tipped his hat with a smile and rode back the way he came.
She watched him with an incredulous stare as he rode away. “You come back here!” she yelled, but he didn’t even turn his head. His stallion broke into a lope and the pair rode out of sight.
She had never been so angry in her life. People had always danced attendance on her every whim and here was a poor vaquero who had turned down her money, given her tit for tat and left her standing here. She was steaming, but there was nothing to do but sit down under a tree and wait for Edwin Forester to return. In the meantime, she waded down the creek and rescued her soggy lace hat.
Rio rode back to his blacksmith shop and slowly unsaddled his horse. He would have given that little spitfire a ride back to town, but then she had started ordering him about and offering to pay him like he was some errand boy. He didn’t feel right about leaving a lady out on the roadalone, but it was daylight and the senator was only a short distance away. Rio thought about spending the night in jail because of that pair and gritted his teeth. It served them both damned well if they had to deal with her overprotec-tive guardian.
He put away his horse and was firing up his forge when his little spotted dog, Tip, began to bark. Rio looked out the open door. A man in a buggy was driving up and stepping down.
“Hello there,
hombre,
” the man called. “We need to talk.”
“Buenas tardes.”
Rio came out to meet him and noted the man was maybe close to forty, dark, and wearing a short, expensive Spanish jacket and flat western hat.
“I am Trace Durango.” The man stuck out his hand.
Uh-oh. Rio shook it, thinking about the girl. “What brings you to my small place, senor?”
Trace looked around, then reached down to pat the small mongrel. “I looked at the job you did on my ward’s mare yesterday. You did a good job, senor.”
“
Gracias.
I do my best.”
“I’ve got a lot of horses out at my ranch and my farrier has gone to Mexico City to visit relatives for a while. Might I persuade you to spend a week or two at the Triple D and do some
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