Robin Lee Hatcher (4 page)

Rand laughed. “You took wing on that one. A flyin’ hawk if ever I seen one.”

Ignoring his friend, Hawk painstakingly sat up, his gaze turning toward the quivering horse.

One of us is the boss here, and it isn’t you.

With a grimace, he pushed himself up from the dirt and brushed off his trousers as he strode across the corral. The stallion’s breathing was labored; white rings circled his eyes as he watched Hawk’s approach. Tension passed between them.

“Easy,” Hawk crooned, picking up the rope and reaching for the saddle horn. “Easy, boy.”

As soon as his leg swung over the animal’s back, the twosome went airborne again.

As Bethany and Ingrid rode around the side of the barn, a wild scene met their eyes. The man they’d seen with Hawk Chandler outside the Plains Saloon sat on the corral fence, shouting encouragement and waving his hat. In the corral, Hawk rode a horse that looked as if it meant to kill both the rider and itself.

Bethany nudged her mare forward, drawn by the drama of man against beast. Reaching the corral, she dismounted, then stepped onto the bottom rail of the fence. Her gaze never wavered from Hawk. She forgot Ingrid and the man on the fence, too captured by the battle of wills taking place inside the corral to notice anything else.

The struggle between horse and rider continued for a long time before the exhausted animal accepted defeat. The fight gone out of him, the stallion stood in the center of the corral, dragging in noisy gasps of air. Hawk Chandler waited a few moments before he nudged the horse with the heels of his boots, moving him forward at a walk, then a trot. He didn’t look at her as he rode by, yet she sensed his awareness of her presence. A tiny thrill raced along her spine.

“He’s good, ain’t he?”

She looked at the man on the fence. “I’ve never seen a wild horse ridden before.”

He hopped to the ground and stepped toward her, putting his hat back on his head as he did so. “I’m Rand Howard.” His brow lifted in question.

“Bethany Silverton. And this is my friend, Ingrid Johnson.”

“The new preacher’s daughter. Pleased to meet you, Miss Silverton. Miss Johnson.”

Bethany returned her attention to the corral.

Hawk Chandler had drawn the lathered stallion to a halt. Without haste, he stepped down from the saddle, all the while speaking softly to the horse, his voice but not his words carrying to the observers. His hand stroked the sweaty black neck. Then he placed his foot in the stirrup once again and remounted. The stallion’s ears twitched forward, then back, listening to the soothing murmur. Several more times, Hawk guided the horse in a wide circle around the corral. When he dismounted again, he gave the stallion another pat on the neck before loosening the cinch and removing the saddle and pad.

It was a pleasant thing, watching him work. Bethany could have stood there all day.

Hawk turned from the horse, and his gaze, hard and unflinching, met hers. Heat rose in her cheeks, but she couldn’t look away. He walked toward her, his gait easy, his stride long. The closer he got, the more intimidating he seemed.

She forced herself to smile. “Good day, Mr. Chandler.” She tilted her head to one side. “My friend and I were out for a ride and heard a commotion. This was exciting to see.”

“You’re a long way from Sweetwater.” There was nothing welcoming in his tone.

“I know, but the day was warm, and it’s such lovely country.”

“It’s not safe for you to ride out this far from town on your own.”

“But I was here with Father just yesterday. We saw nothing to be afraid of.”

“You don’t always see danger coming in this country, Miss Silverton.”

She didn’t care for his advice, but perhaps she could take advantage of it. “I . . . I didn’t think of that, sir. Perhaps . . . would you mind escorting us back to town?”

Not for all the world would she admit, even to herself, how much she hoped he would agree. She wanted to talk to him, to get to know what went on behind those dark eyes. And if he had a wife? Well then, she would want to know her too.

Wouldn’t she?

Unsure of herself — an uncharacteristic feeling — Bethany lowered her gaze.

Rand broke the silence. “How about if we offer these nice ladies something to eat and then I’ll see them back to town.”

An escort home by Mr. Howard wouldn’t serve her cause. It wasn’t him she desired to know. It wasn’t him she wanted to come to church. “We wouldn’t want to put you or your wife out, Mr. Chandler.” She looked at Hawk, anxious for his answer.

“There’s no Mrs. Chandler. And we’ll go into town together. I mean to have a word with the reverend and tell him to keep you at home before you wind up in trouble.”

At that, a flash of anger replaced all other emotions. “My father has no need of your advice, sir. I may be a woman, but I assure you I’m not helpless.”

For the first time, she saw him grin, and it had a startling effect on her equilibrium. She forgot everything in that moment.

He climbed over the fence and dropped to the ground near her. “That’s debatable, miss.” The humor vanished as quickly as it had come. “And I still mean to talk to your father. Next time you might not find the men you meet as friendly as we are.”

Her irritation returned, even stronger than before. “Less friendly than you, Mr. Chandler?” She tossed her head as she turned toward her mare. “I shouldn’t think that possible.” After she was mounted, she looked at Rand. “Ingrid and I thank you for your kind invitation to dine, Mr. Howard, but we must decline. Good day.”

She hoped Ingrid followed as she rode away. She didn’t dare look back. Not until she’d put more distance between her and Hawk Chandler.

Hawk and Rand rode behind the two women. By now, Bethany had to know they were there, that she hadn’t cowed him with her superior air or swayed him with her coy glances. But she never looked back. Not even once. She rode that mare with her head high and her shoulders straight as an arrow.

Maybe she had a point. Maybe he shouldn’t take it upon himself to tell her father how to manage her. But once he’d suggested it, he had to carry through. Besides, he was right. A woman alone without even a gun or a rifle could get into all sorts of trouble, if not from disreputable men, then from snakes or wolves or other wild animals.

Up ahead, Bethany stopped her horse. “Ingrid, look. What on earth is that?” She pointed toward a mound of sun-baked bones.

Hawk rode up beside her. “The remains of a buffalo herd.”

She looked at him, obviously considering whether or not she should deign to acknowledge him. Curiosity apparently won. “What killed them?”

“Greed.”

Her brows rose as her eyes widened in question.

It was Rand who elaborated. “Hides pay about three fifty each in Miles City. Maybe more by now. The buffalo herds of the southern plains were wiped out in the seventies. Now this territory’s about the last place for the buffalo, and I reckon we won’t find any here in another year or two.”

Hawk touched his heels to his horse’s sides. “Most cattlemen think they can’t raise their herds where there’s buffalo.”

“You don’t agree?” Bethany asked, catching up with him.

He shrugged.

Once again, his friend filled the silence. “Buffalo come through; they sweep away horses and cows right along with them. Chances are you’ll never see your stock again. Besides, they eat the grass the cattle need. Now that the railroad’s reached Montana, there’s going to be more and more men coming to build their ranches, men with big plans for the grasslands here. Those plans don’t include buffalo herds. Anyways, long as there’s people willing to buy their hides, there’ll be hunters willing to kill ’em.”

“We saw some buffalo on our way to Sweetwater,” Bethany said softly, sadness touching her face. “I thought they were magnificent. They were frightening and yet so noble.”

She confused him, this girl. One moment, the flirt. And the next —

“Have you ever killed a buffalo, Mr. Chandler?”

“No, Miss Silverton, I haven’t.”

She smiled, and it was as if the sun had come from behind a cloud. “I’m glad.”

In that moment, completely against his will, so was he.

FIVE

“I wish I’d never made that miserable wager.” Bethany passed a dripping dish to Ingrid. “Then I wouldn’t have to see Hawk Chandler ever again.” She groaned. “The way Papa carried on. All I did was go for a horseback ride like I’ve done countless times before.”

“We can forget the wager if you would like.”

“We will not!” Bethany dropped a dirty skillet into the wash water, splashing soapy suds onto her apron. Her eyes narrowed as she began to scrub, imagining it was Mr. Chandler beneath the wire brush. “I’ll win that wager, and I’ll make him pay for the trouble he’s caused me.”

Even now, five days later, her father’s angry scolding echoed in her mind. “I’ll not have a daughter of mine behaving like some wild street urchin. Riding out alone so far from town without protection. Calling on unmarried men without a chaperone. I won’t have it, Bethany Rachel. I will not have it.”

“But Papa — ”

“You’ll not sweet-talk me out of this. I forbid you to ride that horse of yours for two weeks. You’ll have so much to do around the house you won’t have time for more shenanigans.”

“But Papa — ”

Her protests had been to no avail.

So here she stood, up to her elbows in dishwater on a sunny morning, her mare locked up in the stable. This was Hawk Chandler’s fault. If he hadn’t insisted on coming back to town with her . . . If he hadn’t told her father how dangerous it was for her to be out riding on the prairie . . . If he hadn’t told the reverend about their visit to his ranch . . .

It was his fault, and by hook or by crook, she meant to get even.

Ingrid touched her shoulder. “You should not be thinking such things.”

“What things?” She scrubbed the skillet even harder.

“You know what things. You should forgive Mr. Chandler. He was only trying to protect us.”

“Don’t you stand up for him. Don’t you
dare
stand up for him. I’m almost as mad at you as I am at him.”

Her friend’s hand fell away and her gaze dropped to the dish she was drying.

Bethany knew she should apologize. Ingrid’s feelings were easily hurt. But right now she didn’t care. It stung her pride that Rand Howard had been the first person to arrive at church on Sunday. Even a blind fool could tell he was there because of Ingrid. Worse still, he’d come alone. After all the trouble Hawk had caused Bethany, he hadn’t had the decency to come to church and apologize.

She stepped back from the counter and tore off her apron. “I’m going for a walk. I can’t stand it in here one more moment.”

She hurried out the back door without even a bonnet. What did she care if the sun darkened her complexion? Who would notice as long as she was a prisoner in her own home?

Holding her skirts out of the way, she walked across the open field behind the house, making for the cottonwoods and willows. On the bank of Spring River, she sat in the shade of the leafy trees.

But even here she felt confined. As if it would help, she plucked the pins from her hair, setting it free to fall down her back.

It wasn’t fair. It truly wasn’t fair.

She was fond of Ingrid. She loved her like a sister and was happy Rand Howard was interested in her. He seemed a nice sort.

But, oh, it stuck in her craw that Rand had asked permission to call on Ingrid when all Hawk had done was scold her, treating her like a child and getting her in trouble with her parents.

The nerve of that infuriating man.

Wretched, uncouth cowpoke. You’re a beast, that’s what you are.

As she acknowledged the hurtful words spewing from her heart, her anger turned to shame.

“I’m sorry, God.”

This morning her father had called her petulant. Perhaps it was true. Maybe she had behaved like a spoiled child.

“I don’t mean to be this way, Lord.”

She closed her eyes, meaning to pray and to seek God’s guidance, but instead, her thoughts returned to Hawk. They’d returned to him all too often since the day she met him outside the saloon. Even her dreams betrayed her.