Western Man (17 page)

Sharon swung away and climbed into the passenger side of the pickup. Ridge stepped away from it as the motor turned over and revved to life. Before the truck pulled away, he had already turned and begun talking to his foreman. Her eyes were painfully dry as Sharon stared out the front windshield.

“Okay, Huck, now it’s your turn.” Sharon looped the reins around the chestnut’s neck and made sure the hackamore was properly adjusted roughly three fingers above the flaring nostrils before she swung into the saddle.

The sleek gelding stood quietly, waiting for the command to move away from the fence where the bay filly stood tied, finished with her morning training session. A faintly satisfied smile touched Sharon’s mouth as she walked the chestnut into the dirt corral. With six horses contracted to break and train, she usually split them into two groups, working one in the morning and the other in the cool of late afternoon. The spoiled and unruly chestnut was an exception, the only horse she worked morning and night. Two weeks of that steady routine were showing results, even if they hadn’t changed the horse’s mischievous personality.

Her opinion of the animal’s worth was slowly being revised—upward. She put the chestnut
through his paces—walk, trot, canter, change leads, round turns—until she was satisfied the horse was working nicely and responding well to the pressure of the hackamore.

Bringing the horse down to a walk, she reached forward and patted the sleek neck under the flaxen mane. “I think you’re ready to start learning a ‘fancy whoa,’ Huck,” she said and watched the horse’s ears swivel back to catch the sound of her soft voice.

The fancy whoa was the sliding stop where the horse seems to sit on its haunches and screw its tail into the ground. Sharon changed her grip on the reins, taking one in each hand in a “squaw’s hold.” She lifted the chestnut into a slow jog and waited until he was relaxed in the gait, then squeezed lightly with her legs to urge his hindquarters forward. At the same time, she applied slight pressure with the left rein. The instant the chestnut began to respond, she slacked off the left rein and tightened the right rein, then continued alternating the pressure. She sensed the horse’s confusion as it came to a slightly jerky stop.

After reassuring the gelding with a few soft-spoken words, Sharon put him into a trot again and repeated the procedure. It didn’t take too many times before the chestnut started to lower its rump the minute he felt the leg pressure. She gave him time to balance himself before she checked his head.

There was a strong sense of accomplishment in
knowing the chestnut had stopped challenging her authority and struggling stubbornly to have his own way, and had begun to enjoy learning. More than the other green horses, Huck had given a purpose to these last two weeks since she’d left Latigo. Except when she worked the horses, Sharon lived in an emotionless void, one day sliding into another, the dull ache inside always with her.

As she debated whether to test the chestnut’s response at a lope or to wait until the evening session for the next step, Sharon heard the pickup truck drive into the ranch yard. Absently her glance swung around to identify the visitor. A queer sense of panic rushed through her nerves when she recognized Ridge climbing out of the cab. She jerked her gaze to the front and struggled to calm the leaping of her pulse. It was the first time she’d seen Ridge since leaving his ranch that Sunday morning.

All over again, she had to come to terms with these occasional meetings that were bound to occur as long as they lived on neighboring ranches. After overcoming her teenage infatuation with him once already, it didn’t seem fair that she had to go through this anguish again. Sharon kept consoling herself with the knowledge that she had succeeded once, so she could do it again.

As the chestnut circled the corral at a jogging trot, she saw Ridge approach the fence instead of going to the house. He moved with loose-limbed ease, obviously recovered from his stiffness. She
jammed her hat further down on her forehead and lifted the gelding into a canter.

Tension ripped through her nerves when Ridge climbed the fence and sat on the top rail to watch her working the horse. Sharon wanted to scream in frustration. The blaze-faced chestnut was sensitive to the change in mood and began acting up, breaking stride and dancing skittishly around a turn.

Irritated with herself, Sharon slowed the gelding to a walk, trying to settle him down. The horse did a side-stepping jig, refusing to stride out cleanly, and tossed his head. She reined him to a stop, but the chestnut wouldn’t stand still, moving nervously beneath her.

It was a lost cause, she realized. The horse was picking up her tension and agitation. It was pointless to fight the chestnut and risk souring his training to this level. As she gave up and walked the horse toward the fence where the bay filly was tied, she noticed her mother was standing at the fence with Ridge. Sharon avoided his eyes.

“Are you quitting?” her mother asked. Then she commented sympathetically, “He was working so well.”

“I’ve pushed him a lot lately,” Sharon replied, as if that explained the chestnut’s actions this morning.

Ridge vaulted lightly to the ground and walked to the chestnut’s head, catching hold of the bridle and rubbing its nose while Sharon dismounted.
Without looking at him, she hooked a stirrup on the saddlehorn and began loosening the cinch.

“He isn’t even warm,” Ridge observed, running a hand down the horse’s chest.

“I ride him morning and night so I don’t work him ‘til he’s hot,” Sharon explained shortly. “I don’t want him going stale on me when he’s still learning.”

She was stiff with tension, all her muscles tightly coiled and her nerves on edge. There was an electricity in the air, crackling in the stillness broken only by the idle stomping of a hoof and groaning of saddle leather.

Her mother came forward. “There’s fresh coffee at the house. Would you like a cup, Ridge?”

“Not now, thanks,” he refused. “I’ll give Sharon a hand with the horses.” Turning, he untied the filly’s reins and prepared to lead her to the barn.

“I can manage without any help,” she insisted, feeling brittle and breakable.

“I know it,” he replied easily and calmly. “But I want to talk to you.”

Sharon flashed an anguished look at her mother, but her only response was a pair of raised eyebrows and a faint smile. If Ridge was determined to talk to Sharon, nothing would stop him. Her mother knew that. Gritting her teeth, Sharon scooped up the chestnut’s reins and headed for the barn.

The barn was full of hay dust and horse smells, shadowed and cool, as Sharon led the chestnut into his stall and clipped on his halter before removing
the hackamore. Ridge led the filly into the adjoining stall and began unsaddling her, working in silence.

Unbuckling the double cinch, Sharon hauled the saddle off the chestnut and swung it onto her hip. She scooped the saddle blanket and pad off the horse’s back and headed for the tack room with her double burden. Ridge followed her, not seeming to pay any attention when she stole a glance at him. The saddles were heaved onto their racks and the blankets and pads draped over them to air out the horse sweat.

The continued silence grated on her nerves as they returned to the respective stalls of their horses. Sharon picked up a currycomb and began brushing down the sleek chestnut while it nosed at the manger full of hay. Her jaw was clenched so tightly shut that her teeth hurt.

“You wanted to talk to me,” she finally challenged Ridge, without breaking the rhythm of her brushing strokes.

“Yeah.” The sweep of a second currycomb filled the pause that accompanied his bland acknowledgement. Sharon waited, the moment stretching out. Almost idly, Ridge said, “Those wildflowers you picked finally died. I threw them out yesterday.”

“I’m surprised they lasted so long.” She couldn’t seem to keep the curtness out of her voice.

“So was I,” he replied.

There was another interminably long silence. Sharon finally threw him a tight-lipped glance over
the back of the chestnut. “Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

He stopped abruptly and rested his arms on the filly’s dark back, the currycomb hanging loosely from his fingers. His head was tipped to the side, his rolled hat brim at an angle that shaded his expression. He swore softly under his breath and pushed away from the horse, his hard gaze boring into hers.

“I’ve come to accept your terms,” Ridge stated.

“My terms?” Her mouth stayed slightly open. In puzzled confusion, she watched him walk around the horse and come to the corner of the stall where she was standing.

“Yes, your terms,” he repeated and reached into his bulging shirt pocket.

Instead of taking out a cigarette as Sharon expected, he removed a small square box and stepped forward to push it into her hand. She stared at the ring box, then hesitantly opened it, darting him a wary look. His features remained cut in stern lines.

A pear-shaped diamond sparkled in its mounting on a narrow, gold band. A raw joy flamed through her, but Sharon was afraid to believe in it. She lifted her gaze and searched his face.

“Why are you giving me this?” There was a trace of hoarseness in her low-worded question.

His blue glance flicked at the ring then back to her. “You said that’s what you wanted,” he reminded her with a certain flatness. “I can’t get you the marriage license until we get blood tests. And
we’ll have to work on the kids you wanted.” She felt the pinning thrust of his gaze. “I believe those were the three things you said you wanted—in that order.”

Her fingers gripped the small jewelry box, a tremor of pain running through her. That was what she had said she wanted, but foolishly, she had left out love. She was angry and hurt, somehow feeling insulted.

“Well?” Ridge prompted roughly.

The hurt blazed in her hazel eyes. “This has to be the most unromantic proposal I’ve heard in my life!” she retorted, snapping the box shut and ramming it into his hand as she pushed her way by him.

But Ridge was no longer hampered by his injuries. His hand grabbed her arm before she had taken two strides away from him and spun her back around. Impatience and irritation flared in his eyes.

“What do you expect me to do?” he demanded. “Get down on one knee and beg for your hand in marriage?”

“That would be equally laughable!” She pulled her arm free of his hand with an angry yank and turned again.

“Sharon.” There was an ache in the way he said her name that made Sharon pause. His hands moved onto the back of her shoulders, trembling slightly as they touched her. All her senses strained to search out this difference. “I want you to come home with me—back to Latigo.”

A warmth was spreading from his hands as Ridge
moved closer. Sharon was afraid that his physical influence would somehow undermine her control. She swung around to face him and pressed her back against the rough boards of the barn wall partition, flattening her hands against it, too, while she eyed him with wary hope.

“Why?” she asked tightly.

He moved in, bracing his hands against the wall on either side of her, effectively trapping her. The intensity of his gaze unnerved her as he leaned closer, tipping his head down, which made it seem nearer to her face. She felt enveloped by his closeness, a captive of his tough and rugged male vigor.

“It never bothered me to walk into an empty house before,” he said. “But I can’t get used to you not being there. Every time I walk into the kitchen, I expect to see you. In the mornings when I wake up, I listen for the sounds of you stirring somewhere in the house. You didn’t take everything when you left,” he accused. “Your ghost is there, haunting me with the way it was.”

“You’ll get over it in time,” she suggested huskily.

“That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last two weeks,” Ridge agreed. “That’s what I said yesterday when I threw those dead flowers out. But I could still smell them in the room—the same way I could still smell you.”

His head dipped closer as if inhaling her scent. Her lashes fluttered, nearly closing at the rush of exquisite pain his reply brought. But she had gone
through too much heartache to be so easily swayed by him.

“God knows I tried not to think about you,” he said huskily. “You’ll never know how hard I tried.”

“Then why did you?” Her voice was turning into a whisper, the look in his eye beginning to melt her weakening resistance.

“I was satisfied with my life the way it was before you came. I thought I’d be content with it again after you left. But you don’t really miss something until it isn’t there. There’s a void where you were, and I want you to come back and fill it.”

“Why?” She kept asking the same question in a different phrasing, trying to get him to say the answer she wanted to hear.

“Because I miss you.” His mouth was almost against her cheek, his breath spilling warmly over her skin. Their hat brims were rubbing against each other, but it was the only contact, although she could almost feel the sensation of his mouth moving to form the words he spoke. “I want you to come home with me, but I know how stubborn you can be. I knew you wouldn’t agree unless it was on your terms.”

“That’s why you bought the ring?” Sharon breathed the question, feeling so boneless that she needed the barn wall for support. Inside she was a quivering mass of emotion, barely held in check.

“Yes.” He was in front of her mouth, hovering close to her lips. “Will you come with me now?”

“It won’t work, Ridge.” It cost her a lot to deny
herself the kiss he was offering. “Not unless it’s what you want, too.”

“I want you. Hell, I need you,” Ridge muttered thickly. “I’ll take you any way I can have you. And if that means marrying you, then we’ll get married.”

“Are you sure it’s what you want?” she insisted because his answer had been far from reassuring on that score.

“I’m damned sure
you
are what I want.” His mouth closed onto her lips, burning into them with hunger.

Her hands went to his waist as he gathered her away from the wall and pulled her into his arms. He crushed her to his length, unable to get enough of her as he strained to absorb her whole. It was a spinning world, a carousel ride, and she had the brass ring within her reach.