The Horseman (11 page)

“Oh, I’m certain she’s just happy to see you,
Mr. Cole,” Briney said—even as hope swelled in her bosom that
Sassafras really did recognize her.

“Nope. It’s you,” Gunner assured her. “Go
on,” he urged. “You go on and greet her first. You’ll see.”

Somewhat tentatively—for she was secretly
afraid that the Horseman was wrong in his estimation of exactly
whom Sassafras was pleased to see—Briney strode to Sassafras’s
stall. Her anxieties were vanquished, however, when the horse
immediately neighed in greeting her—even nuzzling her shoulder as
Briney reached out, stroking its jaw on each side with her gentle
hands.

“You really are glad to see me, aren’t you,
Sassafras?” Briney giggled with delight.

“Every once in a great while, I see a horse
take to someone this way,” Gunner said, striding over to stand with
Briney and giving Sassafras an affectionate pat on the neck. “It
always worries me a bit—puts me to fearin’ the owner won’t love the
horse as much as the horse loves the owner.”

“Well, that certainly isn’t the case with me,
Mr. Cole,” Briney said. “I promise you that.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you, Miss Thress,”
he assured her. “I could tell from the minute I walked in here and
saw you with Sassy that you were the woman to have her.”

Briney looked from Sassafras to Gunner,
gazing into his bluest of blue eyes. “And I won’t disappoint you.
I’ll be here as often as you’ll allow me to be.”

Gunner thought about saying,
Well, I got
an extra room in the house. Why don’t you just move on in?
But
he knew that, not only was it far, far from appropriate, it might
just scare the girl off for good—Sassafras or not!

Therefore, instead he said, “You come down
whenever you like, Miss Thress. If you have the time, I can show
you how to saddle her up today. It’ll take a bit of practice, but
you’ll be on your own soon enough.”

“And will you eventually instruct me on
helping to clean out her stall, as well?” Briney asked, surprising
Gunner quite thoroughly.

“Well…well, sure, if you like,” he answered.
“We usually do all that for you, bein’ that you’ll be payin’ to
stable her here.”

“Oh, I know,” Briney assured him. “It’s just
something I’d like to know how to do—to better myself and so
Sassafras will have every confidence and trust in me.”

Gunner’s smile broadened as he studied
Briney. It seemed there was just more and more all the time to like
about her. No one, not one person who stabled a horse with Gunner,
had ever wanted to muck out the animal’s stall before. Yet there
next to him stood the prettiest, kindest, most amusing young woman
he’d ever been acquainted with, and she sincerely wanted to learn
to do the job herself. Again Gunner’s breath seemed to catch in his
chest as he studied her. He liked Briney Thress more and more with
every passing second. And he found that it elated him more than it
concerned him. After all, she was a different sort of woman than
others he’d known. He was thinking that, with Briney Thress, there
wasn’t any pretense at all; she was exactly what she appeared to
be—remarkable!

“So I’ve brought the money I owe you,” Briney
began, reaching into the reticule that hung from her wrist.
Withdrawing both paper money and coins, she offered them to Gunner,
saying, “Forty dollars for Sassafras, twenty dollars for her
saddle, and one and fifty cents for her first month’s stable
fees.”

Against his strongest desire, Gunner accepted
the money from her. He knew it was important to Briney that she
actually pay for the horse—although he would’ve willingly given
Sassafras to her. Briney needed ownership—full, irrefutable
ownership—and so she would have it.

Gunner reached into his shirt pocket and
withdrew a folded piece of paper. “Here you go then, Miss Thress. A
bill of sale for Sassafras and her rig. She officially belongs to
you now.”

Gunner laughed when Briney squealed with
delight, actually threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him
with excitement and gratitude.

“Thank you so very much, Mr. Cole! So very
much!” she chirped. “You have no idea how important this is to me.
Thank you!”

He couldn’t resist returning her embrace—and
found himself far more affected by the experience than he’d
expected to be. So much so, in fact, that he didn’t want to release
her—wanted to linger in feeling her slight form enveloped in his
arms and held against his body.

Therefore, when Briney released him,
beginning to shyly step back, Gunner held her captive in his arms
for a moment—just long enough to smile and mumble, “You’re
welcome,” as he gazed down into her lovely blue eyes.

Briney blushed as he did at last release
her—Gunner’s assurance that she had indeed enjoyed his
flirting.

Briney’s entire body was simply covered in
goose pimples! The moment she’d thrown her arms around Gunner’s
neck in appreciation, she knew she’d acted improperly. However, his
response to her—the way he not only returned her embrace but also
held her in his arms a moment, even after she’d released him,
indicated that he’d enjoyed her gratitude.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear
and nervously smoothing her riding skirt, Briney stammered, “Well,
I…well…I suppose you should begin my training on how to saddle
Sassafras now, shouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I should,” Gunner affirmed,
“especially if you plan on enjoyin’ a ride with her today,
hmmm?”

Oh, that voice of his—that deep, alluring,
warm, and syrupy voice! It completely weakened Briney’s knees, and
for a brief instant, one that entirely unsettled her, Briney
wondered. If Gunner’s voice was so affecting to her senses—if his
touch sent her feeling like butter in a hot skillet—what in all the
world would his kiss do to her?

Immediately, the memory of Mrs. Fletcher’s
strict adherence to propriety interrupted Briney’s romantic notions
where Gunner was concerned. Briney thought that if Mrs. Fletcher
were, by chance, already in her grave, she was certainly rolling in
it with cutting disapproval.

Still, Mrs. Fletcher wasn’t there to scold
Briney or to send her away from Gunner on some meaningless errand
to ensure there was no idle time in Briney’s life. Therefore,
Briney pushed any worries about what Mrs. Enola Fletcher might be
thinking from her place up in heaven and determined to focus solely
on what Gunner was going to teach her about saddling Sassafras. It
was a wildly liberating feeling that rose in Briney at the
returning realization that she was at last independent—a free woman
who could make her own decisions in life now. Furthermore, she
decided then and there on the spot that if she were ever fortunate
enough to find another occasion on which to offer Gunner Cole an
embrace, she certainly would act on it—for he surely was accepting
enough of the gesture, after all.

“Well, let’s get to it then, Miss Thress,”
Gunner said.

Briney was rendered breathless then as Gunner
actually took hold of her hand and led her to a nearby group of
spacious shelves, each shelf housing blankets, bits, bridles,
stirrups, a saddle, and so forth.

“This shelf here,” Gunner began, letting go
of her hand, “this is where I’ve always kept Sassy’s tack.
Everything you need when you’re tackin’ up is right here. So if
it’s all right with you, we’ll just keep it that way. I figure it
will be easier for you to keep it where it’s been for so long. Do
you agree?”

“Of course,” Briney assured him. In truth,
she’d never saddled a horse herself before and could only assume
that “tacking up” meant to ready the horse for riding.

“I’m actually gonna just talk you through it,
bein’ that I feel it’s better for the rider to learn to saddle up
by puttin’ his or her hands right there in it from the beginnin’,”
Gunner explained.

“Wise thinking,” Briney said. Then, rubbing
her hands together with excitement and to indicate willingness to
work, she added, “Just tell me what to do.”

Gunner smiled. The girl was entirely too
fascinating for her own good. And he decided something right then
and there—decided to take the risk of imposing on her, just for the
opportunity to linger in her company a while longer.

And so he said, “I’ve actually got to ride
out and check some fence lines today. Would you mind if I tacked up
alongside you and rode with you for a ways? That way you can see
exactly what I’m doin’ while you’re doin’ the same.”

Briney’s eyes widened with delight. Her
cheeks pinked up too, and Gunner exhaled a quiet sigh of relief in
seeing that she was pleased by his suggestion.

“Oh, that would be wonderful, Mr. Cole. Thank
you so much!” she exclaimed.

“And why don’t you drop that Mr. Cole
business and call me Gunner?” he suggested with a wink. “And I’ll
just take the liberty of callin’ you Briney, if I may.”

“Oh, of course you may,” she rather squeaked.
“Gunner,” she added as her blush darkened from a pink to a cherry
red.

“All-righty then, Briney,” Gunner said.
“Let’s get these horses ready to ride.”

“Nope,” Charlie said to Bethanne as they
stood watching the interaction between Gunner and Briney from just
outside the stable. “I ain’t never seen the boss look so…approvin’
of a woman before. I think he’s plain out sweet on your friend Miss
Thress, Miss Kelley.”

Bethanne smiled, placed a gentle hand on
Charlie Plummer’s arm, and said, “I think you’re right, Mr.
Plummer—or have we known each other long enough that I can call you
Charlie?”

Charlie looked down into Bethanne’s face, and
her heart fluttered wildly as he answered, “Why, we have indeed,
Bethanne. We have indeed.”

*

Briney had thought there could be no more
wonderful a thing than riding out alone on her very own horse. At
least, that was her thinking before she knew the bliss of Gunner
Cole riding with her!

Gunner was riding a newly trained—or, as he
called it, “a green-broke” horse—and Briney was simply amazed at
his handling of the animal. Gunner was truly a horseman—and not
just because he bred and raised his own horses, rounded up and
broke wild horses, and bought and sold horses. No, to Briney’s way
of thinking, what made Gunner Cole a horseman (
the
Horseman,
as people in town referred to him) was the incredible respect,
understanding, love, and compassion he held for the animals. He
wasn’t cruel to the green-broke mustang he was riding—firm, but
never cruel.

In fact, during the course of their
conversation together during their ride, Gunner had said, “The
truth is, if I could just own horses and ride them myself—have
miles and miles of pastures for them, stables, and everythin’ the
like—I wouldn’t break the wild ones at all. I’d just let ‘em run so
I could watch them day in and day out.” He’d shrugged, adding, “But
a man has to make a livin’, and I train the wild ones with patience
so that at least they don’t get bullied and beaten by the Cavalry
trainin’ them themselves. It still keeps me awake some nights, but
I do what I must.”

Briney had been touched, deeply touched, by
Gunner’s concern for the horses he broke and sold. And she
understood how he felt, to a small measure. For if Mrs. Fletcher
hadn’t found a kind piece of her heart near the end, Briney
would’ve been left entirely penniless. The only skill she owned
with which to possibly earn a living was her piano playing. And
Oakmont didn’t have nearly enough people in it for a woman to make
a living as a piano teacher. For all Briney knew, she might have
had to play piano in the saloon or some such terrible place in
order to provide for herself. Therefore, she understood that Gunner
did have to sell horses in order to afford to own them.

They’d been riding together for some time
when a fence line appeared. “Come on,” Gunner said, dismounting and
securing the reins of his horse to a strong fence post. “You’ll
like this.”

Briney smiled and, without inquiring what it
was she would like, dismounted and secured Sassafras’s reins as
well.

“Come on!” Gunner called to a group of horses
standing a distance behind the fence. “You girls, you come on over
here,” he said as several beautiful horses began making their way
toward him.

These were some of the most beautiful horses
Briney had ever seen! A beautiful black horse was the first to
reach Gunner, followed by a buckskin, a palomino, and a bay. Soon
four horses were nuzzling Gunner, vying for his attention, strokes
of approval, and the bits of carrots Briney realized he had in one
pocket.

“These are my girls,” he explained, smiling
the most dazzling smile Briney had seen him don yet. It caused
butterflies to flutter in her stomach—to see him so obviously
pleased.

“Your girls?” Briney asked, reaching out to
stroke the velvet nose of the black. “I take it they’re special. Is
it because they’re so beautiful?”

Gunner chuckled. “It’s one reason,” he
admitted. “But you see, these girls have all been bred with
Stackhouse, my thoroughbred stud. He’s stabled right now, ‘cause he
can be an ornery thing. But the girls here, I figure they’ll all
foal in about January,” he explained.

“So their foals…they’ll be worth a great deal
of money?” Briney asked, patting the palomino’s jaw.

“Their foals will make fine ranch horses,” he
admitted. He paused as a sleek, stunning sorrel mare trotted up to
greet him. “But this little beauty…this is Brown Bonnie. She’s a
thoroughbred as well. So bein’ that Stackhouse was sired by Old
Billy himself and Brown Bonnie’s sire was Buster Pray—”

“The racehorse?” Briney exclaimed.

Gunner nodded with approval. “Yes, ma’am, the
racehorse.”

“Oh, I’ve read about Buster Pray…and Old
Billy,” Briney said, awed as Brown Bonnie approached her. She
patted the horse’s nose, shaking her head in admiration. “So you’re
hoping she’ll foal a racehorse.”