A Lady of the West (16 page)

Victoria complied as the men who happened to be nearby all wandered over to prop their arms on the fence and call encouragement, insults, or advice to Jake.

“You won't last ten seconds, Roper.”

“Stay in the saddle—”

“Give that hoss a ride—”

“Show these jackasses how it's done—Pardon me, ma'am.”

“Hope you like dirt, Roper, ‘cause you're about to get a mouthful of it.”

“I don't doubt that none,” Jake replied, grinning at the razing “It wouldn't be the first time.” He set his hat firmly on his head and fit his left boot into the stirrup, then swung into the saddle with one easy motion.

For a second the mare stood stock still, as if she couldn't believe there was actually someone on her back. Then she exploded into motion, first up on the back legs, then twisting and coming down with her head low. She bucked and jumped and corkscrewed, and tried to brush him off against the fence. The men were yelling, and clouds of dust enveloped them.

The mare twisted again and came down hard, her hindquarters lifting. Jake came off over her head and landed with a thump. The men laughed and shouted suggestions. He heard Victoria laugh, and the sound rippled through him on a wave of pleasure even though he was spitting dirt out of his mouth. Jake eased into a sitting position. The mare had settled down as soon as his weight had left the saddle, and ambled over to nudge him.

“You goddamn scrub,” he said softly as he climbed to his feet. “You've got to learn how to behave, so the lady can ride you. You won't get me off this time; I'm gonna ride you until you're so tired you can't jump, and then I'm going to teach you some manners.”

He took up the reins again and was back in the saddle before the mare knew what he was doing.

She had tired a little from her first effort at unseating him, but she wasn't ready to admit defeat. With fire in her eyes, the mare sunfished and corkscrewed; she tried everything, but the man on her back didn't
fly off. She ran straight for the fence and swerved only at the last second, and one of the men jerked Victoria backward off the fence, out of harm's way.

“Sorry, ma'am,” he said, never taking his eyes off the man and horse.

“That's quite all right. Thank you.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The mare tried several more times to brush him off, then just began running around and around the corral. Her speed didn't slow. “I'm taking her over!” Jake yelled, and pulled her head around until she was headed directly for the fence. Her powerful hindquarters bunched, she lifted, and was clear with plenty of room to spare. Jake's hat flew off, but he stayed in the saddle. He bent down low over the horse's neck. When she got that temper worked off, her training could start. Letting her run was the best thing he could do. At this point it was the only thing.

“Guess we'll have to build the fence higher,” one man commented.

Victoria watched man and horse receding in the distance. “When will they be back?” she wondered aloud.

“When that hoss tires out, I reckon.”

She looked at the man who had spoken. He was the same one who had jerked her off the fence when the mare had veered in her direction. She felt embarrassed that she didn't know his name and felt that she should thank him again for his action. She held out her hand. “I'm indebted to you, Mister—?”

“Quinzy,” the man said. He looked at her hand, then wiped his own on his pants before taking hers. “Jake Quinzy, ma'am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Quinzy, for acting so swiftly. I was taken off guard and couldn't have moved out of the way on my own.”

He pulled his hat down lower over his eyes. “It was my pleasure, ma'am.”

Like so many of the other men, Jake Quinzy wore
his holster tied low on his thigh. His face was weathered to the texture of old leather, with myriad lines radiating around his eyes, and there was a touch of gray in his sideburns, but he was as lean and muscled as any of the young men. His eyes, a curious grayish-brown, were emotionless as he studied her from under the brim of his hat.

How was she supposed to act with men like this? She had no idea what type of life he had led, what kind of man he was. Yet he was still standing there and the countless hours of having good manners drilled into her compelled her to make conversation.

“I admit, I feel rather jealous of Mr. Roper,” she said with a smile. “I had hoped to be the first to ride the mare.”

“It's best someone else works the kinks out of her,” Quinzy replied. “You might get hurt if she threw you.”

“My goodness, I've been thrown before!” She laughed, remembering some of the spills she'd taken and the bruises suffered. “Everyone who rides has parted company with his saddle, I imagine.”

“Yes, ma'am, I reckon that's so.”

Quinzy had chores to do, but he remained standing beside Mrs. McLain, letting her lead him in small talk. He seldom had a chance to talk to a woman like her. She fascinated him; she was as tidy as a Sunday-school teacher and a sweet smell lingered in the air around her. Her skin was pale and smooth, and she had been soft under his hands when he'd put them on her waist to pull her down from the fence. She was so different from him that he felt like a great, rough, clumsy bear in comparison. Garnet called her a high-nosed, hoity-toity bitch, but Quincy thought she was calm and dignified. He decided Mrs. McLain was one thing he didn't need to be taking Garnet's advice about.

The mare ran like the wind. Her powerful muscles bunched and expanded as her hooves pounded the
earth. Jake settled into the rhythm, his legs holding her, his hand trying to coax her to respond, but she ignored him and he finally decided to let her run until she couldn't.

Her stamina was amazing. He was a big man, but she acted as if she didn't feel his weight at all. Long after most horses would have been exhausted, her long legs still worked effortlessly. He sensed that she was no longer running from temper, but from the sheer joy of running, and admiration for her filled him. God, what a horse! She was a fit mate for Rubio, as outstanding a mare as he was a stallion. The foals they would get from her would leave all other horses in their dust.

On the other hand, the Major might have been right, as much as he hated to admit it. She might be too much horse for Victoria to handle. She was as strong as most stallions, though Rubio had her beat when it came to sheer power.

Gradually she began slowing, first to a canter, then a walk. He patted her neck, his admiration plain in his voice as he praised her. She wasn't even blown; she was tired, but her gait was still steady, and she tossed her head in a show of spirit.

“That's a good girl. God, you can run! Are you ready to head back home now?” She stopped and he let her rest for a minute, but he didn't dismount. She was just contrary enough to take off without him. When her breathing had slowed, he squeezed her with his legs and lifted the reins. She snorted, shook her head, and ignored him.

Jake swore softly and nudged her with his heels. She tried to bite him. It looked like he had a long day ahead of him.

It was two hours later when they returned to the ranch. By then she was responding to some of his signals, but ignoring others. He kept his temper under control and his hands light on the reins. Despite all
the problems she'd given him, she was a magnificent animal. She still had enough energy left to prance as they approached the corral, to demonstrate that he was on her back only because she allowed it.

Victoria was nowhere in sight, but she'd evidently left orders that she be called as soon as he returned because she walked up while he was still unsaddling the mare. She'd changed out of her riding habit into a dark blue skirt with a high-necked shirtwaist blouse that had a hint of lace at the throat and sleeves. She looked as cool as the winter snows, while he was hot and dusty and had a headache from being out in the sun so long without his hat.

“How did she do?” she asked, stroking the mare's nose.

“It was a draw,” he muttered. “I won on some things, she won on others.”

He was as sweaty as the horse and his face was streaked with dirt. He was exactly the rough type of man that she'd always avoided, but she didn't return to the house as she knew she should. Instead she watched him take care of the horse, and the sight of his strong, tanned hands and forearms, bared by his rolled-up sleeves, fascinated her.

“I've thought of a name for her,” she said, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

“I've thought of a few myself,” Jake grunted.

“Sophie.”

He grunted again, a sound that didn't express either approval or disapproval. “Sophie it is, then.”

“I didn't want to name her some common name like Princess or Duchess, or a mythological name. Just Sophie.” She stopped, a little tense because she wanted him to like her choice.

“It'll do.” He led the horse into a stall and fetched a bucket of water for her, then fed her. He slapped her darkly gleaming rump, and she shifted sideways just enough to jostle him.

Victoria laughed and he looked up, a half-smile twisting his lips. “I heard you laughing when she tossed me.”

She didn't look guilty. Her eyes twinkled at him. “It was funny. She looked so proud of herself.”

He closed the stall door and propped his arms on top of it. He was so close to her that she could smell his sweat and feel the heat of his body. Before she could put some protective distance between them, he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheekbone. “I didn't mind,” he said softly. “I like hearing you laugh.” She didn't laugh enough, he realized. He wanted to gather her close and protect her, give her a world where she could laugh more.

His touch confused her. She looked away and searched for some way to change the subject. Sophie was the most obvious excuse available, so she said, “Can she run?”

“Can she run,” he repeated softly, awe in his voice. “She's so fast and strong that maybe it isn't a good idea for you to ride her.”

Victoria stiffened. “I'm a very good rider, and she's my horse.”

“She's headstrong and stubborn, and so strong that if she decided to bolt you wouldn't be able to hold her.”

“I repeat, she's my horse and I'll ride her.”

“Come to think of it, you do have a lot in common with her,” he said, his gaze intense as he looked at her. “She's proud, contrary, and kicks up a fuss about a man riding her, but she'll like it once she gets used to it and settles down some.”

Victoria turned white and fell back a step from the look in those hard, level green eyes. There was no mistaking his meaning and no mistaking the way he was looking at her. “No,” she whispered. “Don't say that.” She lifted her skirts to leave, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her closer to him.

“Running away won't make it any less true.”

“Mr. Roper, please let go of me.”

“Jake,” he said. “Don't call me Mr. Roper like I've never kissed you and you haven't kissed me back. And maybe I don't want to let go of you. Maybe I want another kiss.”

“Hush!” She looked around desperately, terrified that someone would see or hear them. For God's sake, why was he doing this? Any number of people could walk in. He'd killed Pledger to keep the man from telling that he'd seen Jake coming out of her room, and now he was deliberately jeopardizing that same secret.

“No one's around.” He smiled a little grimly and released her. “Don't look so scared. You're not going to have to scream ‘rape' to protect your reputation. I'm not going to throw you into a stall and flip your skirts up, even though the idea is mighty pleasing,
Miz
McLain.”

“Jake, please.” He might think her proud, but she would beg if necessary. “I'm not that sort of woman. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression—”

“The impression I got is that you're a woman who doesn't know how much pleasure your body can give you—”

“Pleasure!”
she said in a stifled tone of disgust.

He was pleased at this confirmation that she didn't enjoy her marital duties with McLain. It still grated at him that she slept with the bastard at all, but he couldn't stand the thought of her enjoying it.

“Yeah, pleasure.” His voice was rough and low. “Don't make the mistake of thinking that having me inside you would be the same as having McLain.”

The color washed into her face as she remembered the shameful dreams and fantasies she'd had about him, and she felt as mortified as if he'd been able to read her mind.

She began backing away. “This isn't right,” she whispered. “We can't—”

“That's right, run away. Like I said, that won't
change anything. I'll see you in the morning. Ten o'clock.”

She hurried back to the house, her face burning. She'd tell the Major that she wanted someone else to train the horse. But what excuse could she give for wanting Jake replaced? She couldn't do anything that might result in him being fired; he was the only protection she could provide for Celia.

There was nothing she could do. She was caught in a spider web of circumstance, and she couldn't tear free without endangering Celia.

So she was there at ten the next morning, her face carefully composed and blank. Jake was already mounted on Sophie and was patiently walking her around the corral, teaching her the commands every well-mannered horse should know. Except for giving Victoria a piercing look when she first walked up, he ignored her and concentrated on the mare.

The sun was hot, and a trickle of perspiration made an itching path down her spine. She rubbed the back of her neck, which was beginning to prickle despite the floppy-brimmed hat she'd borrowed from Carmita that morning. Why did he want her out here if he was going to do all the work with the horse?