Song of the West (4 page)

“No, Samantha.” He met her eyes with a quiet patience that was more disturbing than angry words and shouts. “What you're doing is very kind and unselfish.”

“There's nothing kind or unselfish about it,” she interrupted, shrugging the words away. “We're sisters. More than that, we're twins. We shared life from its beginning. You can't understand the kind of bond that creates. I'd give up a hundred jobs to help Bree if she needed me.”

“No one's condemning your loyalty, Samantha. It's an admirable trait.” He gave her a long, level look. “Just a word of advice. Don't become so involved that you forget who Samantha Evans is, and that she just might have the right to her own woman's life.”

Samantha drew herself up to her full height in the saddle. “I hardly need your advice on how to run my life. I've been managing nicely for some time now.”

His face creased in a lazy smile. “Yes, ma'am, I'm sure you have.”

Chapter Four

Samantha had been riding the dapple gray in stubborn silence for nearly thirty minutes when she noticed more cattle. Her guide seemed unperturbed by her silence and slowed his Arabian's gait to the gelding's meandering walk. She would never have admitted to the man at her side that his words had disturbed her peace of mind.

What business was it of his how she chose to run her life? What gave Jake Tanner the right to question her relationship with Sabrina? No one asked him for his advice. And why in heaven's name should anything he said matter in the first place?

They were approaching a large ranch house. A redwood porch skirted the building's front, graced by evergreen shrubs. A gray wisp of smoke rose in a welcoming spire from the chimney. Ranch buildings sat neat and unobtrusive in the background.

“Welcome to the Double T, ma'am.”

Jake drew her eyes with the uncharacteristic formality in his tone. She turned to see him smile and touch the brim of his well-worn Stetson.

“Thank you, Mr. Tanner. I can honestly say your ranch is spectacular. But what, may I ask, are we doing here?”

“Well, now . . .” Jake shifted in the saddle to face her directly. “I don't know about you, but nearly three hours in the saddle gives me a powerful appetite. I figured here we might do a bit better than beef jerky.”

“Three hours?” Samantha repeated, and pushed Sabrina's hat from her head so it lay against her back. “Has it really been that long?”

The angles of his face moved slowly with his grin, and she found herself once more intrigued by the process. “I'll take that to mean you were so delighted with my company, time stood still.”

She answered with a toss of her head. “I hate to tread on your ego, Jake, but the credit goes to Wyoming.”

“Close enough for now.” Reaching over, he plopped the brimmed hat back in place on Samantha's head and urged his mount into a canter.

Samantha stared after him in exasperation, watching the confidence with which he rode the Arabian. They moved like one form rather than horse and man. Scowling, she pressed her heels to the gelding's side and raced forward to join him.

As she reached his side, he skirted the ranch house and rode toward the buildings in the rear, following the left fork on a long, hard-packed road. A large, sleepy-eyed Saint Bernard rose from his siesta and romped forward to greet them. A deep, hoarse bark emitted from his throat. Jake halted in front of the stables. He slid off the Arabian's back, running his hand through the dog's thick fur as he hit the ground.

“Wolfgang's harmless.” He acknowledged the loving, wet kisses with another brief caress and moved to the gelding's side. “He's just a puppy.”

“A puppy,” Samantha repeated. “You don't see many hundred-and-fifty-pound puppies.” Tilting her head, she gave the overgrown baby a thorough examination before she brought her leg over the saddle to dismount.

Jake gripped her waist as she made her descent, holding her off the ground a moment as if she were weightless. As her boots touched earth, she was turned around and drawn against a hard chest. She tilted her head to inform him that his assistance was unnecessary, but saw only a brief blur of his face before his lips captured hers.

Her mind whirled with the touch and scent of him. She felt as though she were falling into a deep well and her heart began to beat a mad tempo against her ribs. She clutched at his jacket in defense. Perhaps the kiss was brief. It could have lasted no more than a portion of a minute, but it felt like forever. She knew his mouth was warm and sure on hers while decades flew into centuries.

The strange sensations of timelessness and loss of control frightened her. She stiffened and began to struggle against his grasp. He released her immediately, staring down at her clouded blue eyes with a satisfied smile. The smile transformed terror into fury.

“How dare you?”

“Just testing, ma'am.” His answer was complacent, as though the kiss had been no more than that, a traditional touching of lips.

“Testing?” she repeated, running an agitated hand through her hair. “Testing what?”

“I've always wanted to kiss a teacher.” Grinning, he gave her a friendly pat on the cheek. “I think there're some holes in your education.”

“I'll show you holes, you conceited, high-handed—” her mind searched for something appropriately derogatory and settled on a generality “—
man.
If I didn't consider that kiss so insignificant, you'd be lying on your back checking out the sky.”

He surveyed her as she trembled with a mixture of fury and wounded pride. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, Sam, I almost believe you could do it.”

“You can bank on it,” she confirmed with an arrogant toss of her head. “And the next time you . . .” Feeling her arm sharply pulled, she glanced down to see the sleeve of her jacket captured in the awesome jaws of the Saint Bernard. “What'd you do, teach him to eat unwilling females?”

“He just wants to make your acquaintance,” Jake laughed, as he led the horses to the stable to turn them over to one of his men.

Samantha was not normally timid, and her pride refused to allow her to call Jake to untangle her from the teeth of his puppy. She swallowed and spoke to her canine captor.

“Hello . . . Wolfgang, wasn't it?” she muttered. “I'm Sam. You, ah, wouldn't consider letting go of my jacket, would you?” The dog continued to stare with droopy, innocent eyes. “Well, that's all right,” she said, trying out magnanimity. “It's just an old one, anyway. I'm very fond of dogs, you know.” Tentatively, she brought her free hand up to touch the fur on his huge head. “Well, actually, I have a cat,” she admitted in apology, “but I have absolutely no prejudices.”

Though his expression did not alter, she decided it was prudent to give him time for consideration. Her patience was rewarded when he released her sleeve and bathed her hand with his enormous tongue.

“Well, I see you two have made friends,” Jake drawled, coming up behind her.

“No thanks to you,” she said. “He might have eaten me alive.”

“Not you, Sam,” Jake disagreed, taking her hand and striding toward the house. “Too tough for Wolfgang's taste.”

Jake led her to the back entrance through a paneled, tiled-floor mudroom and into the kitchen. A large square room, it was bright and cheery with tangerine curtains framing the wide windows. The pleasant-looking woman who stood by the sink smiled at Samantha. “Jake, you scoundrel, have you had this poor little lady out in the cold all this time?” Samantha met the warm brown eyes with a returning smile.

Jake grinned, unabashed. “Samantha Evans, meet Annie Holloway, my cook, housekeeper and best girl.”

“Don't you try soft soaping me, you young devil.” She brushed off his words with indulgent affection, but pleased color rose to her pudgy cheeks. “Thinks he can get around me with sweet talk. Pleased to meet you, Miss Evans.” Samantha found her hand enclosed in a firm grip.

“Hello, Miss Holloway, I hope I'm not putting you out.”

“Putting me out?” Annie let out a rich, full laugh, her ample bust heaving with the sound. “Isn't she the sweet one? Don't you be silly, now, and you just call me Annie like everyone else.”

“Thank you, Annie.” Samantha's smile warmed. “Everyone calls me Sam.”

“Now that's a pretty thing,” Annie commented, peering candidly into Samantha's face. “Yes, sir, a right pretty thing. You two run along,” she commanded with an attempt at sternness. “Out of my kitchen. Lunch will be along, and I'll bring you in some tea to warm you up. Not you,” she said with a scowl as Jake grimaced. “For the little lady. You don't need any warming up.”

“Annie runs things,” Jake explained as he led Samantha down a wide hall into the living room.

“I can see she does, even when she's securely wrapped around your little finger.”

For a moment, his smile was so boyish and full of mischief, she nearly gave in to the urge to brush the curls from his forehead.

The paneling in the living room was light. The expanse of wood was broken by a large stone fireplace and wide windows framed with cinnamon-colored sheers. The dark gleaming furniture had been upholstered in gold, burnt sienna and rich browns. There was a comfortable hodgepodge of Hepplewhites and Chippendales with piecrust tilt-top tables and Pembrokes, ladder-back chairs and candlestands. In the center of the hardwood floor lay a wide rug of Indian design, so obviously old and handworked, that Samantha wondered if it had been his great-grandmother's fingers that had hooked it perhaps nearly a century ago. The room reflected a quiet, understated wealth, a wealth she somehow did not associate with the rangy, brash cowboy side of Jake.

A Charles Russell painting caught her eye. She turned to study it, attempting to sort out her new impressions of this complex man. Turning back, she found him watching her reaction with unconcealed amusement.

“I have a feeling you were expecting bearskins and oilcloth.”

Samantha focused her attention on the inviting fire. “I never know what to expect from you,” she muttered.

“No?” He dropped his lanky form into a wingbacked chair and pulled out a long, thin cigar. “I thought you were pretty bright.”

Samantha seated herself in the chair across from him, keeping the warmth and hiss of the fire between them. “This is a lovely room, very appealing and very warm.”

“I'm glad you like it.” If he noticed her blatant change of subject, he gave no sign. Lighting his cigar, he stretched out his legs and looked totally relaxed and content.

“I have a weakness for antiques,” she continued, deciding the topic was safe and impersonal.

He smiled, the smoke curling lazily above his head. “There's a piece in one of the bedrooms you might like to see. A blanket chest in walnut that was brought over from the East in the 1860s.”

“I'd like that very much.” She returned his smile and settled back as Annie wheeled a small tea cart into the room.

“I brought you coffee,” she said to Jake, and passed him a cup. “I know you won't take tea unless you douse it with bourbon. Something not quite decent about doing that to a good cup of tea.”

“Tea is an old ladies' drink,” he stated, ignoring her rapidly clucking tongue.

“How do you think Sabrina looks?” Samantha asked him when Annie had bustled back to the kitchen.

“I think you worry too much about her.”

She bristled instinctively before replying. “Perhaps you're right,” she surprised herself by admitting. “Our mother always said Bree and I were mirror images, meaning, I discovered after a while, opposites.”

“Right down to Sabrina being right-handed, and you being left.”

“Why, yes.” She looked at him in faint surprise. “You don't miss much, do you?” He merely shook his head and gave her an enigmatic smile. “Well,” she plunged on, not sure she liked his expression, a bit like a cat who already had the mouse between his paws. “I suppose the summary of my discrepancies was that I could never keep the hem in my white organdy party dress. You'd have to know my mother to understand that. She would have Bree and me all decked out in these frilly white organdy dresses and send us off to a party. Bree would come back spotless, pure and angelic. I'd come back with dirt on my frills, bloody knees and a trailing hem.”

During her story, Jake's smile had widened. The coffee in his cup cooled, unattended as he watched her. “There're doers and there're watchers, Samantha. I imagine you had fun scraping up your knees.”

As ridiculous as it seemed, she felt she'd just been complimented, and was both pleased and faintly embarrassed.

“I suppose you're a doer, too.” She dropped her eyes. “You couldn't run a ranch like this and not be. Cattle ranching sounds romantic, but I imagine it's long hours, hot summers and cold winters. I don't suppose it's really all that different from the way it used to be a hundred years ago.”

“The range isn't open anymore,” he corrected. “You don't find cowboys going off to Texas to punch cattle with a ten-dollar horse and a forty-dollar saddle.” He shrugged and set his empty cup on the table beside him. “But some change slow, and I'm one who likes to take my time.”

She was frowning into his smile when Annie announced lunch. It was not until they were settled in the dining room that she spoke directly to him again, pressing him for more details on how the ranch was run.

He explained how roundups, which had once been accomplished on the vast open range with only men and horses, were now aided by fences and technology. But it was still men and ponies who moved the cattle into corrals. Over a few states there were still strongholds of riders and ropers, men who cultivated the old technique and blended it with the new. On the Double T, Jake employed the best of both.

“If roundups aren't what they once were, they still accomplish the same end. Getting the cattle together and branding them.”

“Branding?” Samantha interrupted, and shuddered.

“Your Philadelphia's showing, Sam.” He grinned. “Take my word for it, branding is a good deal more unpleasant for the branders than the brandees.”

She decided to ignore his comments and changed the subject abruptly. “Bree told me your ranch borders Dan's. This place must be huge for it to have taken us three hours to get here.”

Jake's deep, rich laughter filled the room, and she decided unwillingly that she liked the sound very much. “It's a pretty big spread, Sam, but if you take the straight road north for the Lazy L, you can be here in twenty minutes on horseback. I took you on a big circle today,” he explained. “Just a small taste of our part of the Laramie Basin.”

They lingered over coffee, relaxed in each other's company.

“We'd better get started back,” Jake said after a while. He rose and extended his hand. Her own slipped without hesitation into it as he pulled her to her feet. When she looked up at him, her smile was warm and spontaneous.