Six White Horses (13 page)

"Aren't you afraid you'll hurt your good arm?" she asked caustically.

"I see you're still nursing your temper," Morgan commented dryly.

"What was I supposed to do? Ignore the way you yelled and swore at me earlier? You were the one who was a grouchy old bear," Patty accused, as she searched
impatiently through the shelves for the sack of cookies.

"I was, wasn't I?"
His voice came from only a few feet away, paralyzing Patty for an instant because she hadn't heard his footsteps. "I owe you an apology. I suppose it was a lack of sleep, this shoulder and your less than cordial welcome. But I am sorry."

"I'm surprised you're capable of admitting that" Although her reply came out bitterly acid, there was a sudden flow of warmth through her system. "I didn't realize you could be wrong in anything."

"You still want to fight, don't you? Are you holding onto your grudge against me because your grandfather accepted the invitation to my home?" he asked quietly. "I know you probably regard it as some sort of punishment to be endured, but I assure you my parents are very warm, friendly people."

"It's a pity you don't take after them." The sack of cookies was in her hand as she turned from the cupboard, keeping her gaze averted from his face.

"You've never bothered to get to know me well enough to know whether I do or not," Morgan pointed out, his tall frame blocking the path to the door. "Let me carry that."

"You only have the use of one arm." Patty ignored his outstretched hand, setting the sack on the counter to slip the cup handles on her fingers.

"I'm hardly an invalid."

To prove his point, fingers closed over her wrist, biting in sharply to draw her to him, the cups clanging against each other at the sudden movement. Her free hand came up to push him away and encountered the sling. To apply force against his injured shoulder would secure her release, but Patty couldn't hurt him deliberately.

The virile masculine face was only inches from her own, the tantalizing firmness of his mouth within easy reach. His grip had twisted her arm behind her back, molding her against his length and quickening her pulse at the hard imprint of his male outline.

"Are you going to accept my apology or keep throwing my ill temper in my face for the rest of the trip?" Morgan asked softly.

"I accept it." Although grudgingly issued, there was a breathy catch to her voice that Patty couldn't control.

"And forgive me?" he prompted.

She darted an angry glare into his mocking blue eyes. "Yes."

Lightly he brushed his lips against hers, playing with them for a provocative second before drawing away. There was a funny ache in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't go away even when Morgan released her entirely and picked up the sack of cookies. Now that he no longer held her, Patty wanted to lash out at him in anger. A warning light must have flashed in her eyes.

"Cheer up, kid," he laughed softly. "I'll only be around for a couple of weeks. You've endured my company for a lot longer time and managed to survive."

"I am not a child!" Patty retorted.

"No, you're a stubborn baby goat. Some day you're going to get tired of butting your head against me," he agreed with a complacent nod of his head. "Now quit dawdling and get those cups out to your grandfather. He's probably waiting for his coffee."

"When we start back out, you can ride with him." The taut declaration was drawn through clenched teeth.
 

"And deprive myself of your friendly company? I don't think so." A satisfied smile deepened the grooves around his mouth and nose as he walked out the trailer door ahead of Patty.
 

Chapter Seven

CLAY RED SOIL churned in the water, changing the colorless liquid to a murky red shade. The same red soil lined the banks of the river and surfaced to form tiny island bars in the river itself. The Red River, part of the borderline between Texas and Oklahoma.

"Welcome to Oklahoma, the Sooner State," Morgan said as the pickup traversed the bridge over the Red River and onto the highway stretching northward.

"Why the Sooner State?" Patty asked with a wry curve to her mouth. "The sooner you get here, the sooner you can leave?"

"Have I ever spoken disparagingly of your home state?" he asked with a hint of reproving sharpness.

"I don't know. Have you?" she countered.

Her sliding gaze encountered his uncompromising profile. There was a slight grimace of pain as Morgan shifted his position in the seat. Patty guessed that his shoulder had to be bothering him, although he had not once referred to it in the last hour's drive.

"I am curious," she said, leaving the sarcasm out of her words. "Why is it called the Sooner State?"

There was an instant of silence and she felt his measured look studying her face. There was a slight vibration of her nerve ends in response to the almost physical touch of his eyes.

"The word dates back to the land rush days. In the beginning it had an uncomplimentary connotation. The settlers who were referred to as 'Sooners' earned it by being accused of jumping the gun, you might say, and staking their claims for homestead land before it was actually open for homesteading. Often it was wrongly applied to those people who obtained choice pieces of land by others who had settled on nearly worthless ground. Poor losers, I guess," Morgan explained. "That meaning has been pushed to the background and a 'Sooner' is now simply a nickname for an Oklahoman."

"How much farther to your ranch?"

"Not far now," he answered, his gaze turning out the side window of the pickup. "We're north and west of Ardmore, near the foot of the Arbuckle Mountains. This river peninsula we're on right now used to be a refuge for outlaws. Some of them are buried here near Thackerville. Have you been in Oklahoma before?"

"I've been through it,
"
Patty answered noncommittally.

"Maybe you'll have a chance to see some of it while you're here." But Patty noticed he didn't offer his services as a guide. "The pine forests of the Ouachita to the east are very beautiful, especially the drive through the Winding Stair Mountains. And Turner Falls in the Arbuckle Mountains. Have you been to the National Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City?"

"No."

"You and your grandfather will have to make a point to go there."

"Yes," she agreed, stifling a disappointed sigh that had come from nowhere. "Yes, I suppose so."

A haft an hour later they were turning west of Ardmore onto a state road. After another quarter of an hour's drive or more, Morgan pointed out the ranch road, marked simply by a sign on a post carved with the name Kincaid. Slowing the pickup down, Patty eased it over the open rails of the cattle guard and followed the graveled clay road into the rolling hills, trailed by her grandfather with the horse van.

They traveled several miles into the open country before Patty sighted the main building of the ranch protected by a small hill rising on the northwest from the cold blast of winter storms. The tall, rambling brick house with its clay red brick and cream white trim was off to the side. The white stables and barns were to the northeast of the house, accented by interlacing corrals and a small rodeo arena complete with bucking chutes and a judging stand.

As she followed the lane that made a wide circle to encompass both the house and the ranch buildings, Patty saw a tall man striding effortlessly from the nearest white barn to meet them. His height made him appear deceptively lean and well muscled, but Patty wasn't taken in. The resemblance of the man to Morgan was too strong for her not to guess that it must be his father.

When the distance lessened and his features became more discernible, Patty knew she was right. His face was strong, perhaps not nearly so unrelenting as Morgan's, and lines crinkled the corners of his eyes in a friendly way. The sideburns were snow white, but the rest of his hair was ebony black with an occasional strand of white.

"You can park by the stock trucks near the barn," Morgan said, and Patty complied.

Morgan was out of the pickup within seconds after it had stopped, waving to her grandfather to park beside Patty. Then she watched the warm handclasp between father and son, the mockery erased from Morgan's face by a broad smile. She wanted to wait for her grandfather, but as the two men turned their attention to her, she knew she couldn't.

As she slid from the cab of the truck, a screen door slammed at the house and a woman hurried with light grace toward Morgan. Her dark auburn hair was liberally streaked with gray, but the multitude of freckles on her face made her seem eternally young. Patty waited discreetly near the door of the truck while Morgan greeted his mother.

"It's so good to see you again!" Mrs. Kincaid declared gaily as he lowered his head to receive the firm kiss she placed on his cheek. "It seems like ages. How's your shoulder?"

"Don't fuss, Molly. Morgan's barely home," the low teasing voice of the older man scolded.

"Patty, come here," Morgan motioned her over to their group. "I want you to meet my parents."

Unwillingly she obeyed, wishing he had ignored her for a few more minutes until her grandfather had positioned his trailer. Despite her initial nervousness, she found herself responding to their warm smiles of welcome.

"So this is your harum-scarum Annie Oakley, huh, Morgan?" Lucas Kincaid laughed.

"This is the one and only," Morgan agreed, a mysterious smile flitting across his face as he met Patty's defiant look. "Thank heavens I don't think she can shoot as well as she can ride or else I would be dead by now."

"Morgan, you shouldn't exaggerate so," his mother reprimanded.

"I don't think I'm exaggerating, am I, Skinny?" Again there was that knowing look of amusement at the snapping fire in her brown eyes. "Many times she's suggested that I go to a warm place."

"And you probably deserved it, too!" Molly Kincaid retorted.

"Do you feel better now, Patty?" Morgan asked quietly, lowering his voice but not sufficiently to ex-elude his parents.

"What do you mean?" she asked tautly, feeling decidedly on the defensive.

"You now have an ally in the enemy camp—namely my mother. Surely you won't find your stay here nearly so objectionable," he replied.

Patty colored furiously, glancing in embarrassment at the older couple. She stared in humiliating silence at the ground, wishing his parents weren't there so she could tell Morgan off.

"You don't need to hold your tongue on their account," he mocked softly. "Mom and Dad are aware of the state of war that exists between us."

"Don't tease Patty so," his mother frowned.

"Don't worry, Mom," he chuckled. "She fights back." But his attention was diverted from tormenting Patty by the arrival of her grandfather.

It was one thing to hurl insults at Morgan in private. But Patty was reluctant to do so in front of his parents and he seemed to know it and was taking advantage of it.

After Everett King had been introduced to Morgan's parents, he said, "I'd like to get the horses unloaded and settled in right away, if you don't mind.

"Of course not," Lucas Kincaid agreed readily. "I'll show you the stalls we've got ready for you."

As Patty started to follow the two older men, Molly Kincaid laid a detaining hand on her arm. "Come up to the house with me and I'll show you your rooms."

"Rooms?" Patty repeated blankly, turning toward their travel trailer to explain that she and her grandfather would be staying in it. "We—"

Morgan's hand curled
under her hair to circle the back of her neck. The pressure of his touch turned her automatically away from the trailer and his mother. His gaze locked onto hers, refusing to release her.

"Would you mind if I spoke privately to Patty for a few minutes, mom?" The request was addressed to his mother although his eyes, steely blue, never left Patty's face.

"But—" Patty started to protest vigorously, but the biting pressure of his halted the flow.

The auburn-haired woman looked uncertainly at Patty before sending a slightly warning glance at her son. "Come up to the house when you're through."

"We will," he answered her firmly as she walked away.

"You know very well that grandpa and I are staying in our trailer," Patty declared before Morgan had a chance.

"Listen very carefully, Patricia King." His gaze narrowed on her belligerent expression. "I am not going to repeat myself. When we go up to the house, you are going to very politely accept the rooms my mother has fixed especially for you and your grandfather. You are not going to say one word or indicate in any way that you would rather reject her hospitality and remain apart. However much you dislike me, I am not going to allow you to let it reflect on my parents. Do you understand?"

Patty stared into the set features, longing to tell him to go take a flying leap off a cliff, but the intimidating line of his mouth prevented the words from getting out. In this, she realized, he was going to stand for no arguments.

"I'm not as uncivilized and cruel as you are," she retorted. "I would never take my dislike of you out on your parents, and I think it's mean of you to suggest that I would."